


eyes like sinking ships on waters

by StarseekerWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drunk Texting, Drunken Confessions, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Second Person, kind of slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28472319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarseekerWolf/pseuds/StarseekerWolf
Summary: You were moving on. You had your life together, traveling the country with a group of women you'd grown to love, one of whom you'd fallen in love with. You had things figured out.And then you ran into him in a bar and he looked at you, and with Dean being himself, maybe Sam was going to end up with your number no matter what. Is it selfish to be grateful for that?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Original Female Character/Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Fancy Seeing You Here

You hear his voice from across the bar before anything else.

Isabelle knows something is wrong as soon as your head jerks up, your eyes widening at the achingly familiar sound. “You okay, _novia_?” she asks, laying a gloved hand on your shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He might as well be a ghost - a ghost from your past, at least. But you give her a smile that’s probably only half reassuring. “It’s fine, I just need to go check on something.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she drops her hand and lets you walk away. You tighten your leather jacket around your body, and as you move closer to the spot where you think you heard him, the backs of two people come into view.

Clad in flannel, slightly slouched, both of them heaving with laughter at a conversation they’re having with the bartender. You walk up behind them, focusing on the taller of the two, and in a voice that’s smaller than you’d like to admit, you call, “Sam?”

*****

The response is immediate. The man turns, a look of polite confusion spread across his features, and there you are, face to face with Sam Winchester.

Shock quickly sets in. “Y-Y/N?!” he stutters, looking about as alarmed as you feel. “I, um, what are you-?”

His brother chooses that moment to turn in his seat, and when his gaze falls on you, his eyes practically bug out of his head. “Y/N!” he exclaims. “What are the odds of running into you all the way out here?” He looks you up and down, from your jacket to your skin tight jeans and black lace up boots. “Damn.”

“Save it, Dean,” you growl, digging your nails into your palm. “What are you doing this far north?”

“Working a case, obviously,” he snorts. “Do we look like we’re on a vacation here?”

You glance back to Sam and suppress a shiver when you see that his eyes have never left your face. “No,” you say softly. “I guess not.”

You clear your throat. “Anyway, uh, I should probably go. It was nice seeing you.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, no need to be so hasty,” Dean objects. “Come, grab a drink with us. Like old times … right?”

You glare at him, ready to get into all the reasons why he shouldn't dare go there, when you feel a hand at the small of your back. “Everything okay here?” Isabelle asks, stepping up beside you with steel in her eyes.

“Everything is fine, Issy,” you say, but you know your voice is stiff and cold. Distant. “Just ran into some old friends.”

“I was just inviting Y/N here for some drinks,” Dean explains, looking up at Issy with a coy smile. “Who might you be, gorgeous?”

“My name is Isabelle, not ‘gorgeous,’” she replies coolly. She shifts her arm so that her fingers slide around your waist. “And I don’t swing your way.”

It takes the brothers a minute, but when they realize, Sam chokes on his drink and Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “You - and Y/N?” he gapes. “Uhh, gotta say, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things you didn’t know about me,” you state, grateful for Issy’s proximity to you.

“Maybe that’s because you left without really saying goodbye,” Dean challenges, the joking edge gone from his voice.

“Dean,” Sam murmurs, but you can see the underlying hurt in his eyes, and you know he’s remembering everything.

You’re reluctant to give him any sort of victory, but you know he’ll keep persisting unless you relent a small slice. “Look, this is my number, okay?” you say, plucking Dean’s napkin from the counter and pulling a pen out of your pocket, jotting the digits down on the flimsy material. “We’re not going to be in town for long, but I doubt you are, either, so … Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Dean stares at the napkin as you slide it back across the counter. “You gonna pick up this time?”

You keep your expression neutral, but the jab stings. “Yeah,” you say, “I will.” You turn away, and Issy follows behind you, subtly moving her hand to the small of your back.

“What was that?” she asks when you get back to the corner of the bar where the rest of the girls are.

“People from … my past, I guess you could say.” It takes everything in your power not to twist around and look back at Sam, to see if he’s still looking at you.

“Seems like you had a pretty personal relationship with them.”

You shoot a glance at her. She isn’t looking at you, and that paired with the way she was lazily stirring her drink is cause for concern. “Are you upset with me?” you ask quietly.

Issy sighs, shifting a strip of hair out of her face. “I’m not upset with you, Y/N, I’m just confused. I didn’t exactly expect to run into two hot guys in a bar that you clearly have unfinished business with.”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “You think they’re hot?”

She scowls at you. “ _Objectively_. Don’t change the subject.”

“Right, right, sorry.” You sigh. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d ever see them again, really. I figured there was no point telling you about them and getting you worried.”

Issy frowns. “Why would I be worried?”

 _Oh, I don’t know_ , you think to yourself, _maybe the part where they hunt monsters. Maybe the fact that them being here means we’re in danger. This entire town is in danger._

“I don’t know,” you say. “I just had a feeling you would be.”

She places her hand on top of yours, and you give her a soft smile. “I’m here for you, okay?” She traces the veins under your skin with her thumb. “But please talk to me.”

“I will, I promise.”

After staying for a bit longer and enjoying the warmth of the bar, Kara calls for the group to move out. Issy keeps her fingers twined with yours as you head out the door, checking your pocket to make sure you’ve got your keys. As you pass the bar, you can’t help but look, and you have to wrench your gaze away as you see that he’s watching you leave.

When you reach the bikes where they’re parked outside, you part ways with Issy with a kiss and walk to your bike, unstrapping your helmet from the handle and sliding it over your head. After pulling the hair away from your face, you start the motorcycle and fold up the kickstand, settling into the seat and getting ready to join the lineup.

Speeding down the road, knowing you're surrounded by amazing women and that the woman you love is right at your back, you can almost forget about the man whose vibrant green eyes used to keep you up at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! This is the start of a fic that I'm hoping I'll be able to see through; I've already got some idea of where I want the story to go, and I always feel like there's never enough Sam content in the world.
> 
> There won't really be any spoilers because I myself have only seen through season 9, and though I've received most if not all of the major spoilers for the seasons past that, I will avoid any spoilers as best I can. If something is necessary for plot (which I can't imagine why it would be, but if it is), I'll include a warning at the start of the chapter along with what season the spoilers comes from.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! The first chapter is pretty short, but things will get going in the next one. See you then!


	2. 1 A.M. Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out the Winchesters need you a bit sooner than you bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the existence of a character if you haven't started season 4.

The call comes at one in the morning.

At first, you’re not sure what’s woken you up, and in the haze of past-midnight awakenings, you don’t even hear it at first. But then the world comes into focus, and you realize that your phone is ringing.

Muttering to yourself, you carefully lift Isabelle’s arm from your waist and roll over to face the nightstand, picking up your phone and looking at the caller ID.

Shock coils in your stomach when you realize that you’re staring at numbers that have been seared into your mind since you were told to memorize them. After fumbling with the button for a moment, you accept the call and hold the phone up to your ear, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and walking into the bathroom. You flip on the light and grimace when you’re greeted by the sight of your reflection. “Hey,” you say.

“Y/N.” You hate that the sound of him saying your name still sends chills across your skin. “Y/N, I need you.”

You nearly drop your phone in the sink. “Uh-I-sorry?”

“I need you to come here, now. We need your help.”

“Sam, I don’t know about that, I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“No, no, no, listen, please.” The desperation in his voice gives you pause. “Y/N, I promise you, I wouldn’t be calling you unless it was my very last option, but please, we’re in deep shit and I just …”

“Alright,” you cut him off. “Just … Where are you?”

With a breath of relief, he gives you directions to a local park. After you hang up, you splash water on your face and briefly run a brush through your hair, then head back out to get clothes from your suitcase.

Issy is sitting up in bed when you open the bathroom door, her features barely distinguishable in the darkness. You stare at each other for a moment, and you sigh, heading over to your suitcase and laying it down on the floor.

“Where are you going?” she asks quietly, watching you unzip the case and rummage through your pile of clothes.

“I have to do something,” you say, yanking out a pair of leggings and a long sleeve top. “I’ll be back in a few hours, I promise.”

“ _Y/N_.” You grit your teeth at the amount of stress she puts behind the word. “What is going _on_?”

You stand, making your way to the bed until you’re standing in front of her, gently taking her face in your hands. “Issy, I know it’s crazy, but I need you to trust me, okay? I love you, and I promise you I will come back.”

She closes her eyes, her fingers coming around your wrist as if trying to hold on to you. “I know I can’t stop you.”

You pull her into a hug, and after a moment, she returns it with ferocity, pressing her forehead into your shoulder. “I love you, _novia_ ,” she whispers. “Be safe.”

Getting changed only takes a few minutes, and after you slide your phone into your jacket pocket, you kiss Issy and grab your keys from the kitchenette table.

It’s a different atmosphere, walking down a sidewalk at night in the dark, the only sound being your footsteps and the buzz of insects in the woods. You walk at a brisk pace, heading to the bikes, and you’re on the road within minutes.

Based on the directions he gave you, it would probably take twenty minutes to get to the park by obeying traffic rules, but you figure to hell with that, speeding up until the roar of the engine is the only thing you can hear. You’re not sure you want to know what has driven Sam to call you when two days ago, he probably thought you never wanted to talk to him again, but whatever it is, you know it must be bad.

Disappearing without a trace tends to give people that impression, you suppose as you round a corner.

After maybe ten minutes, you can tell you’re approaching the park; streetlamps are placed closer together, and you can see the silhouette of a dining pavilion.

You turn into the park and roll to a halt in a parking space, taking the key out of the ignition and pulling out your phone as you walk towards the park. You call Sam back, holding it up to your ear.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, I’m here, where are you?”

“Take a right at the entrance and just follow the sidewalk.” He sounds tired. “You’ll know us when you see us.”

“Alright, I’m on my way.” You hang up and shove your phone into your pocket, hurrying down the sidewalk once you turn right. After only a minute or two of walking, trying not to let the darkness get into your head, you can see a tall figure a little ways away, pacing beside a park bench, barely lit by a streetlamp twenty feet away.

 _Sam_.

He sees you when you get closer and comes to a halt, watching as you approach. As you near, you notice that Dean is laying on the bench itself; though he’s breathing, his eyes are closed.

“What happened?” you exclaim, dropping down in front of Dean and grabbing his hand. It’s burning up.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighs, kneeling beside you. With a spark of annoyance, you notice that you still only come up to his shoulder. “We were staking out the area to see if our target would show up, but he just … passed out. He’s been like this for the past twenty minutes.”

You place the back of your hand on Dean’s forehead; also scorching. It’s hard to imagine that this is the same man who was lively and energetic only hours ago. “Any ideas on what this could be?”

“I’m not sure,” he replies. “We came here because the reports made it sound like there’s a witch, but … this doesn’t seem like witch style. Feel his pulse.”

You comply, and when you understand what he means, you jerk your head up to look at him, unable to deny the lack of any movement. “How-?”

“I don’t know. But, again, doesn’t seem like witch style.”

Agreeing with that was easy. At least neither of them were gasping for air or coughing up nails. “Well … Have you called Cas?”

It’s odd to say his name again, after having no reason to for so long, but the look on Sam’s face tells you something’s wrong. “What is it?”

He stands, his lips pursed into a tense line. “We haven’t exactly been in touch lately.”

You raise one eyebrow. “Really.”

“Yes, really. Look, you’ve been gone a while, okay? It’s not like things were going to stay the same.”

You look away, resentful of the shame that pricks at your skin. Of course you’re not up to date with their lives.

You’re not sure you even have the right to be standing here now, to still reserve the slot of the first priority, the first person to call in an emergency. It’s so odd to be alone with them again, with no bar full of people and no Issy to keep your emotions in check. And with Dean unconscious, it might as well just be you and Sam.

 _You and Sam_. A far gone concept, but a nice one. A good one.

“I don’t really know what I can do to help,” you say, getting to your feet. “I’m not Cas, I can’t just touch his forehead and make everything better.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” He sounds impatient, almost angry. “But … Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I was hoping you would come see Lauria with me.”

The surprised exhalation of air that leaves you is almost involuntary. “ _Lauria_? Sam, I haven’t talked to her in years. She lives in the middle of nowhere in _Ohio_.”

“I know that, okay? I know that. But she always liked you best, and the only reason she ever even put up with me and Dean is because you introduced us to her. If I show up on her doorstep alone, she’s not going to care, and she’s not going to help.”

You sigh, looking at the bushes and trees shrouded in the dark, anywhere but at him. “I have a family. I have a girlfriend and … I can’t just leave that. I can’t just walk away from everything I’ve built over the past few years, and you can’t ask me to do that.”

“We were a family, too, you know.” You don’t have to turn your head to know he’s looking at you, but you do so anyway. “You had no problem walking away from us then.”

“You can’t compare what we had to the normalcy I’ve found,” you retort, shaking your head. “Do you understand that, Sam? I’ve found something _normal_. Something I don’t wake up every day afraid to lose. We were never going to have that.”

The sad intensity in his eyes makes you want to yield, but you can’t. You can’t go back to that, can’t subject yourself to that again. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I can’t.”

Your attention flickers to his hands, which are clenched into fists at his side. You know he’s not going to hit you, but it makes you nervous all the same. With a small smile, he says, “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, slowly walking backwards. “I am.” When you can’t withstand the heat of his gaze any longer, you turn around, leaving him in the park with an unconscious Dean and no idea what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Very interesting things to come.
> 
> Also, to clarify, Lauria is not a character from the show, she is a character I've created for the purposes of where I want the storyline to go. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Feedback is much appreciated, and thank you for reading. I hope you've been having a good 2021 so far!


	3. Old Friends (The Good Kind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to get one of the girls' bikes fixed results in an unexpected reunion.

You wake up the next morning to the smell of pancakes sizzling on a griddle. A smile coming to your face, you sit up in bed. “Hey.”

Issy turns and smiles at you, the sunlight streaming in through the window giving her tan skin a beautiful glow. “Morning.”

Throwing the covers off, you slide out of bed and stretch your muscles, wincing at the slight stiffness in your shoulders. Hotel mattresses aren’t exactly the height of luxury, but it is what it is.

You give Issy a quick peck on the cheek before getting dressed, pulling on jeans and a random shirt. As you head to the bathroom to freshen up, your meeting up with Sam sneaks into your mind, most unwelcome. Your fingers twitch, and you try to push away the image of the look on his face as he watched you leave.

 _It had to be done_. That’s what you’ll tell yourself, anyway. You’re no stranger to feeding yourself kind lies.

The two of you have a pleasant breakfast at the table in the kitchenette, enjoying each other’s company and the taste of good pancakes. The fact that you did indeed come back and that you apologized profusely when you did so seems to have stripped most of her anger away. You know she’s still wary of why you had to go, and that’s fair, but you promised her it won’t be a problem anymore, and you mean it.

“Kara wants some of us to head to an automotive place this morning,” Issy says between bites. “Averie’s bike’s having issues and she doesn’t feel comfortable sending her into town alone.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” you say. “Were you wanting to go?”

“I thought it might be fun,” she replies, giving a small shrug. “It’s an excuse to get out, at the very least. I thought we could maybe head to some of the shops afterward.”

“I’d like that,” you smile, and she smiles back, and it’s nice. It’s peaceful and it’s nice.

It doesn’t take long to get the dishes cleaned up, and after that, you text Kara to let her know you and Issy are willing to accompany Averie. She gives you the go ahead, so after you and Issy get your purses, you head to the other girl’s hotel room.

“Hopefully the repairs don’t cost too much,” you say as you walk down the hallway. “I mean, with all of us, I know we make decent money any time we settle somewhere for a bit, but it’s still a nuisance.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit frustrating,” Issy agrees. “Though, to be fair, it’s been years since Averie’s bike needed fixing up. The girl knows how to take care of a machine.”

She grins, and you return the smile, but you look away after a moment. _Years_. It’s hard not to wonder who else in the group she might have history with.

Jealousy is something you’ve wrestled with throughout the time you’ve been with her, but in some ways, Averie is a good foil for that. It’s impossible for you to be envious or resentful towards you; her personality doesn’t allow it.

The girl in question opens the door within seconds of your knock, dressed and ready to go. “Morning, girls!” she greets the two of you with predictable liveliness. “Sorry to drag you out so early.”

“It’s already almost 10,” Issy laughs. “It’s hardly early.”

“You know, some people would disagree,” you input.

“Well, to hell with them, I say,” Averie declares. She puffs out a breath, blowing a few strands of blond hair out of her face. “Shall we?”

You take the elevator down to the lobby and head out into the parking lot. The morning air is pleasantly crisp; it’s not quite cold, but the breeze holds promises of such things to come.

You can never get enough of this kind of weather. After all, it won’t be long before freezing temperatures set in in most parts of the country, and it’s never fun being caught in traffic in conditions like that.

After Averie lets Kara know that the three of you are heading out, you get on the road. Averie leads, so you assume she knows where she’s going.

Issy blows you a kiss when you’re stopped at a red light, and you smile at her. You’re not sure how well she can see your mouth, but you know she knows.

You get to the automotive place in roughly twenty minutes. As you pull your bikes into some of the parking spaces, you take in the metal walled building. The sign above the door reads “Anderson & Co. Automotive.”

“Let’s head in, I guess,” Averie says, dismounting and pocketing the keys. You and Issy do the same and follow her to the door.

It looks to be fairly empty inside; in fact, you don’t see anyone when you walk in. You frown, your eyes straying to the unattended front desk and the vacant seats in the waiting room. “It’s not _that_ early,” you mutter, uneasiness twisting in your stomach.

“I’m sure they’re just in the bathroom or something,” Issy reasons, laying a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Thankfully, she’s always been the more logically driven one of you two, not one to give in to paranoia.

All three of you jolt a bit when you hear the sound of male voices coming from around the corner. _Surely one of them’s got to work here_ , you think to yourself. _But, why does one of them sound familiar?_

Two men round the corner, and when you see who it is, you suck in a surprised breath. “Bobby?”

*****

He looks the same as ever, with a vest jacket pulled over a stack of flannel shirts, and when he sees you, his eyebrows shoot up. “Y/N!” he exclaims, and you’re both relieved and taken aback that he looks just as alarmed as you feel. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you around … well, anywhere.”

Ignoring the confused look on Averie’s face and the stare Issy is searing into your back, you step forward and give Bobby a hug. His beard has grown since you last saw him, and it scratches against your temple. He smells like smoke and the inside of his Chevelle. Familiar.

“What are you doing here?” you ask him as you pull away. “We’re a bit far from South Dakota.”

“I wasn’t too far off, in fairness. Visiting friends,” he explains. “Sam called me a little after three, needed help working a case. I got here probably an hour ago.” Bobby shakes his head. “You wouldn’t believe what those idjits have gotten themselves into.”

He knows you too well, so as soon as your smile falters, he catches it. He narrows his eyes slightly. “What?”

You sigh, glancing at Issy to see her raising an eyebrow at you. “Look … We’re here to get my friend’s bike fixed, but after that, can I take you out for a drink?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks to be a business card, handing it to you. “Here, call me when you get the chance and we can figure out where to meet.”

You take it from him with a grateful smile, and he pats you on the arm. “See you later, Y/L/N. Good luck with your repairs.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” you say, pocketing the card as Bobby waves to the other man and heads out the door.

“Y/N,” Issy says calmly, and you turn to look at her, knowing a storm is coming. “I need to talk to you outside.”

You purse your lips, glancing at Averie. “You’ve got this covered?”

“Yeah,” she agrees hastily, her eyes flickering between the two of you. “Do whatever you need to, I can take care of this.”

Without another word to you, Issy strides for the door, leaving you no choice but to follow her. She doesn’t say anything until you’re twenty feet away from the building, far enough that the people inside won’t be able to tell what you’re saying.

“Y/N,” she mutters, smoothing her hair out of her face, “I need you to explain something to me.”

“Hmm.”

“Where the hell are all these people coming from? Hmm? He said something about working a _case_? What does that even mean?” Issy puffs out a breath. “I’m starting to think there are a lot of things you haven’t told me.”

You give a slight nod. “I guess there’s no hiding that anymore, huh?”

“Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

You sigh, settling down onto the ground. After a moment, Issy joins you, waiting less than patiently for you to start speaking.

“A few years ago, I ran with these guys. Sam and Dean, the men at the bar.”

“Mhmm.”

“The man who left just now, that’s Bobby. He was sort of like a father figure to us, kept us all in check. We were close, closer than family, even. But we got into …” You falter, realizing you’re not quite ready for the monsters talk yet. “We got into trouble a lot. Dangerous trouble.”

Issy picks at the grass, not looking at you. “What kind of trouble? Drugs?”

“No, not drugs, just … getting in with the wrong crowd. Ended up in some bad situations.” You shrug. “So I left.”

She eyes you warily. “And that’s all.”

“That’s all.”

She tilts her head back, squinting up at the sky. “Why haven’t you told me about any of this?”

“I’m not proud of it, Issy,” you sigh, toeing a line in the gravel. “I’m not proud of who I was back then.”

“I understand that, I guess.” She shifts closer, resting her head on your shoulder. “I’m not mad at you, I promise. I just want you to trust me.”

“I do trust you.” You hook your arm around hers, holding it close to yours. “I love you, Issy. And I promise I’ll do a better job of showing it.”

A wry smile comes to her face. “I’m certainly not complaining.”

You sit there together for a moment, enjoying the quiet, until the door to the building opens, and you sit up with a start. Averie and the man walk out, and she smiles apologetically. “Sorry, they need to see the bike.”

“You’re good,” you smile. You stand, brushing dust and gravel off of your jeans. Issy joins you, and you head over to the other two.

“I’m Mark Anderson,” the man introduces himself, holding out his hand.

You shake his hand. “Y/N,” you reply.

Issy does the same, and with introductions out of the way, he heads over to Averie’s bike with her, and she starts talking about the issues she’s been seeing.

Issy hangs back, seeming to hesitate, and when you give her a questioning look, she sighs. “If you want, I’ve got this covered. You can go meet … Bobby, was it?”

You can’t help but raise your eyebrows at her. “Uh, yeah, Bobby. Are-are you sure?”

“I know it’s going to be on your mind until you do something about it.” She reaches out to take your hand in hers. “Shopping can wait.”

“Have I told you you’re the best?”

“Come here,” she mutters, tugging you towards her. She gives you a quick, tight, hug, then pulls back and kisses you. You savor the feeling of her lips against yours, marveling at how it still feels like the first time.

“Call me when you’re there safely, alright?” she says.

“I will, I promise.”

She breaks away from you and heads to join Averie and Mark, while you walk towards where your bike is parked and pull your phone out of your pocket, also fishing out the card that Bobby gave you.

“Hey,” you say when he picks up. “Turns out I’m available a bit sooner than I thought I’d be.”

*****

“‘Goodbye, Y/N’? That’s what he said to you?”

“Yeah.” You shake your head, taking another swig of your drink. “I don’t know, it sounded pretty final to me.”

Bobby frowns, sitting across from you at a table in the same bar you were at the night before. “I still don’t get why he didn’t just tell me you were here. Seems like an odd thing to keep to yourself.”

“Probably wanted to preserve your opinion of me,” you say reasonably. “He’s thoughtful that way.”

“I don’t think less of you, Y/N,” he states firmly. “But I do think you made the wrong choice.”

You slouch in your seat, turning your glass side to side on the tabletop. “What do you want me to do, Bobby? I left all of that behind for a reason.”

“No, you left _them_ behind. You’re one of the most promising hunters I’ve ever seen, and you lived for it. It was written all over your face each time.”

Twitching your lips, you stay silent, not wanting to admit that he’s right. Not wanting to admit that careening down the highway at 80 miles an hour is the closest replacement you can find for the adrenaline high you used to cling to.

“I know it’s hard to put yourself in a situation like that again, and I’m not going to pressure you to make a choice, because I know how difficult it was for you to walk out in the first place.” You give him a small smile. You’ve missed his earnestness. “I just want you to think about how you’ll feel if you let him do this on his own. I don’t want you to live with guilt like …” He clears his throat. “With guilt like that.”

You keep your eyes on your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. “I don’t know, Bobby …”

“I know. I know. How about, let’s just enjoy a drink as old friends, and whatever happens, happens. I know it’s not my place to convince you.”

You accept, and for the next hour or so, you know the two of you must look like the most normal people in the world from the outside, reminiscing and joking about times past.

But even as you laugh and try to stay in the moment, you can’t help but think that he knows what he’s doing. He’s smart, he always has been, so he must know that even if he had spent more time trying to talk you into helping Sam, it would have been pointless.

You know what your choice is going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you're having a great day or night.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am.


	4. The Takeoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader does what she feels she needs to.

You get the motel and room number from Bobby on your way out of the bar. He hugs you before he leaves, wishing you safe travels, but you don’t miss the smirk on his face as he heads out the door.

Standing in front of the motel door now, with sunset approaching quickly, you feel self-conscious, somehow. Anyone could glance over from the road or the sidewalk and see you on the second story landing, and though they wouldn’t know what you’re doing here, you are wary of the fact that there are witnesses to what’s about to happen.

It’s almost like a betrayal to Issy to be here. You’ve let her think you’re still with Bobby, hoping to buy yourself some time before your conscience takes a dive for this.

Taking a breath, you shove down your pride and knock on the door.

You give him a few moments, figuring he’ll be grabbing a weapon and approaching the door carefully. After all, he’s not exactly expecting you.

You’re just starting to get worried when the door swings open, and he’s standing before you.

It’s a good thing you have a check on your emotions and your words. The thought jumps to the forefront of your mind as soon as you see him: _You look terrible._

You blink in dismay, taking in his appearance. It seems he hasn’t changed clothes since you last saw him. He’s bleary eyed but forcibly alert, the way he is when he hasn’t slept, his knuckles white with the grip he has on the shotgun in his hands. The look in his eyes is that of a man losing hope.

“Y/N?” he frowns, sounding tired. “What are you doing here?”

“I …” Shaking off your reservations about his state of being, you say, “I want to help you, Sam.”

His arms fall to his side. “What?”

You peer past him into the doorway, catching a glimpse of piled up takeout boxes. “Can I just come in for a second?” you ask.

He stares at you for a moment, and in that split second or two, you begin to wonder if he’s going to turn you away. If you’ve lost your chance to return to the place you used to have in their world.

But the pause breaks, and he steps aside, giving you room to walk in. He closes the door behind you, and suddenly, the space feels very small, even for a motel room. You’re too aware of how close he is, his tall frame, the rustle of his coat as he brushes past you.

Dean is laying on the bed closest to the far wall, presumably to keep him away from the door and any potential danger. You shiver to see him so vulnerable, his brows lightly drawn together, a frown tugging his mouth downward. He would hate for anyone to see him like this; you look away, partially for his sake and partially for your own.

“What changed your mind?” Sam asks, drawing your attention back to him. He slowly sits on the edge of his bed, setting the shotgun down beside him, watching as you hesitantly take a seat on the extra chair in the room.

“I ran into Bobby,” you tell him. “You didn’t say anything about me when you called him.”

“I was trying to respect your decision.” He shakes his head. “I’ve always tried to do that, whether I liked it or not.”

“I’m sorry.” You purse your lips. “Look, I could spend all the time in the world apologizing to you, but I don’t think you care to hear that.”

“I do not.”

“I thought I could walk away, Sam,” you sigh, sliding your hands into your pockets. Fiddling with the inner seam. “But I can’t. I can’t walk away from you … and Dean.”

He flexes his fingers, now avoiding looking at you completely. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

You know it’s fair for him to be wary, but his guarded words hurt all the same. “This time it’s different.”

“How.”

“I’ve had two years to be away from … this. From this life. And it’s been nice, it really has.” You consider your next words carefully. “But I’m not going to abandon …” You almost say “you.” “I can’t abandon Dean. Not when he’s like this.”

His lips thin into a line, almost like he knows the words you held back. “So, what now?”

“I don’t know. I guess we talk to Lauria.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Y/N, I know that’s what I originally asked, but are you sure? I mean, it hasn’t even been a day, and I understand if you need more time to consider-”

“I don’t,” you interrupt him. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

Sam casts a glance at you, and you try not to focus too much on the intensity in his eyes. “What about your girlfriend? Isabelle, right?”

You’re not sure you want to think about that too much. You can still smell her perfume as she leaned close, and you don’t want to imagine how much trust you’re about to break. All of the promises you’re about to render void.

“I’ll take care of it,” you say, straightening to give yourself the confidence you feel you need in order to not break down in front of him. That won’t be happening again if you can help it. “Dean needs your help, and if that means I have to help you, then so be it. I won’t let him down.”

“Y/N …” He seems to hesitate, perhaps afraid to reverse your decision once more. “You have your own life, and I don’t want to impose on that. You don’t _have_ to do anything. I hope I didn’t make you feel that way.”

“I know, Sam,” you murmur. “I know.”

He lets out a long breath, and in that moment, you know there’s no turning back. “How soon can you leave?”

*****

When you make it back to the hotel, you’re expecting a confrontation, but Issy isn’t at the room when you arrive. Your eyes stinging, caught between being devastated and relieved, you catch Marina in the hallway and ask where she is.

“I think she went to grab something to eat for you guys,” the older girl replies, smiling. “Said something about your favorite type of taco.” She frowns, noticing the moisture in your eyes. “Is everything okay?”

You smile back faintly. “Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ve got an eyelash in my eye or something.”

She shrugs and continues on to wherever she was headed, leaving you to think about the implications of what she’s told you.

 _Your favorite type of taco_. Heavily seasoned and overstuffed. She knows you.

She _knows_ you, which is why you have to act now.

You close the door hastily. You’re tempted to lock it, but you don’t, just in case she comes back too soon; you want to raise as little suspicion as possible.

Most of your things are already tucked in the suitcase; years with Sam and Dean taught you to minimize, to be ready to uproot at a moment’s notice. It takes mere minutes to have your toiletries packed, your utensils wrapped up, everything you know snapped up and zippered away.

In the movies, there’s always a scene of the main character turning in the doorway to look back at what they’re about to leave behind. As you prepare to leave the room, you consider it for a moment, but you decide it’s for the best to just go. You’re not sure you’ll be able to go through with this if you see the plates set out on the table, the makeup bag on the bathroom counter, the constellation night light plugged in to the bedside outlet.

So you go. You walk quickly, taking the stairs to avoid any chance of running into Issy in the elevator. Your heart breaks a little bit with each step you take closer to ground level, doing your best to keep the wheels of your suitcase above the stone.

_This is for the best. This is for the best. This is for the best._

The image in your mind of Dean splayed out on that motel bed, slack and unmoving, spurs you onward, shielding you from the barest shred of thought that this might not be the right call. Maybe it’s been years since you’ve spoken. Maybe you had your reasons for leaving. But they were there for you, with no limits, and though you’ll never be able to repay that, you’ve got to try.

Thankfully, there’s no sign of Issy in the lobby or in the parking lot. Got held up in the restaurant line, maybe. For once in your life, the timing is working out.

“Hey! Y/N!”

You whirl, your stomach dropping, but it’s just Averie, waving to you from a short distance away. You give her a tight lipped smile, and she walks up to you, grinning. “The bike only needed some simple repairs,” she tells you. “It didn’t cost too much, thankfully, and Mark was nice. He asked for my number, actually; we’re meeting up for a drink later.”

“That’s really good, Averie,” you say.

She glances down at your suitcase, her giddy smile slipping away into a slight frown. “Where are you going?”

Your mind spins as you grasp for an excuse. “I think I need a new suitcase,” you blurt. “I’m bringing this one for a size comparison.”

“Oh. Okay.” She still seems a bit confused. “How are you going to take that on your bike?”

“I was going to call a cab,” you say.

“Oh, alright.” Averie breaks into a smile again, giving you another little wave. “Good luck! Can I see what you end up getting?”

“I’ll be sure to swing by your room later. You can tell me about Mark, too,” you reply, and as you turn and walk out of the door, you have no idea what possessed you to say such a damnably irrevocable thing. You’re never going to see Averie again.

*****

When you slide into the passenger’s seat, having stored your suitcase in the trunk, you feel a simultaneous heaviness and lightness in your chest. Dean is carefully laid out in the backseat and Sam is settled a mere foot and a half from you, his wrists resting comfortably on the wheel. You don’t know how to handle being in his presence again.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Just drive,” you say quietly.

He silently obliges, putting the Impala in reverse and backing out of the parking space. As he drives towards the entrance to the parking lot, scanning the main road for traffic, you shift your head to look at him, the corner of your mouth lifting slightly. “Just like old times, right?”

You turn towards the window to watch the cars go by, but just before you do, you catch the bittersweet smile that plays across his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts on the reader's decision! Do you agree with it?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. As always, feedback is appreciated, and each kudo and bookmark means a lot. I hope you're having a good day/night, and I'll see you again soon!


	5. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Reader struggle through the challenges of staying in a room together - pt 1.

The two of you stay silent for the majority of the first day’s drive. Sam turns on the radio at some point, and you enjoy the gentle music that fills the space between you.

It’s all highway, bleak stretches of asphalt and billboards you only get a slight glimpse of before you’re flying past. Sam, though always the safer of the two brothers, doesn’t have his usual regard for the speed limit, no doubt hoping to cover as much ground as possible before a stop is necessary.

One of the only things you took out of the fridge was a water bottle, which you take another sip from as you cross the Missouri border. You only have an hour or so left in the day before it starts getting really dark, but you’ll probably be able to make it a good ways into the state in the meantime.

By now, Issy will have gotten back to the hotel room and realized your absence. You know she won’t think you’re still with Bobby. She’s smarter than that. She’ll notice the absence of your suitcase, your toothpaste and hairbrush, the phone charger missing from the night stand.

You hope she won’t worry too much. She’s not one to assume the worst, but you’ve also never vanished on her before. You plan to send a voice recording when you get to a motel and you can have a private moment to yourself, but you didn’t feel comfortable staying to write a note. For one, it would have taken too long, and for two, it felt too impersonal. Too detached. You needed her to hear it in your voice when you told her that it wasn’t an easy choice to make.

Maybe even that’s a lie, though. Maybe you always knew this is where you would end up the minute you saw Sam in the bar, in Baby’s front seat, cruising down the highway.

Maybe you didn’t imagine that Dean would be unconscious with no pulse in the backseat, but that’s not exactly a predictable circumstance.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks, breaking the silence.

You drag your gaze away from the passing treeline, looking over at him. He has his eyes fixed on the road, but you know he’s listening for your answer.

“I’m alright,” you say steadily. You aren’t exactly in the mood to get into your emotional problems.

If it was before, he would call you on your bullshit. He would say, “I know you’re lying. What’s really going on?” He would give you that knowing look that tore into you every time.

But it’s not before, and there’s a distance between you, and when his fingers flex on the steering wheel, you know he’s holding back that instinct, that impulse to reach out. It’s not his place anymore, and you both know that.

Eventually, as the sun begins truly sinking below the horizon line, you start keeping your eyes open for motels. In the next ten minutes, you get to a town, passing a motel on your drive through what looks to be the downtown area. Sam pulls into the parking lot of a convenience store to turn around, heading back and gently rolling Baby into a space before the small building.

“This looks like a keeper,” you mutter as you get out of the car, eyeing the paint chipping on the walls and bits of trash lifting in the slight breeze.

“We’ll make it work,” Sam sighs. “If you get the room, I’ll figure out how to get Dean out of the car.”

You nod, but then pause, your attention snagged on one thing he’s just said. “ _The_ room?”

Confusion, then embarrassment, registers on his face. “I’m sorry, I’m so used to getting one room, it’s instinct. It’s absolutely okay to get two rooms, I get that that’s probably more comfortable.”

You smile weakly, the concept of staying in a room with Sam again hitting you in places you would rather protect. “Right, I’ll get on that.” You grab your purse, which you’ve been keeping with you in your lap, and head into the motel.

The door creaks as you open it, which is not promising. Sitting behind the check-in desk is a woman with an empty expression on her face, her feet propped up on the counter with her phone in her hands. She looks up as you walk in, and with a poorly concealed sigh, she drops down her legs, rolling her chair close to the computer. “How can I help you?” she asks, a tired drone to her voice.

“Hi, I’d like to get two rooms for the night, please,” you say, offering your best smile. It can’t be easy just sitting here all night waiting for people to come in.

“I can give you one,” she replies, reaching back to the rack on the wall and tossing a key onto the table surface.

You stare at the single key for a moment. “Sorry?”

“I can give you one room,” the woman repeats, looking vaguely annoyed. “We’re booked besides that.”

“Are you positive?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m positive.”

Resigned to your fate and not wanting to annoy the woman any more, you ask, “How much?”

You hand her the bills over the counter and lift your hand and take the keys, and they drag against the counter with an unpleasant scraping sound as you pull them to fall limp at your side.

_What the hell am I going to do now?_

*****

You head back out to where Sam is awkwardly maneuvering Dean out of the door, trying not to bump his head or clunk his limbs on the low roof of the Impala. He immediately spots the stormy expression on your face. “What?”

You hold up the singular key, and you watch it dawn on him as the movement speaks for itself. “They only have one room?” You nod, and his brows knit together. “Look, Y/N, I understand if you’re not comfortable sharing a room. Maybe I could sleep in the car or something-”

“No one is sleeping in the car,” you cut him off. “I can’t say I’m happy about it, but it is what it is. We don’t need to make a big deal about it.”

He still seems to be hesitating, so you decide to push on, lifting your suitcase out of the trunk Sam has already opened and setting it on the ground. “Let’s head in, then.”

You have to imagine that the two of you are an odd sight, one of you with a suitcase and the other with a duffel bag and a limp body. Thankfully, your room is on the ground floor, so you don’t have to worry about stairs.

As soon as you’re all in, you shut the door and lock it, taking the spare wooden chair sitting by the wall and propping it under the doorknob. When Sam raises his eyebrows at you, you explain, “Force of habit.”

After an awkward moment of glancing around the small room and trying to figure out how this is going to work, you settle on putting Dean in the extra armchair by the AC unit so you’ll both at least have a bed to yourself.

You don’t really want to think about the beds, though.

“I’ll take the one by the door,” Sam says, setting his bag down on it. You don’t argue with him, understanding his intentions behind it, and the tone of his voice doesn’t really invite much disagreement anyway. Instead, you drop your suitcase on the bed closer to the wall, unzipping it to get out some of your essentials.

“We’ll have to share the bathroom,” he continues, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Just, let me know when you need to take a shower, I guess? I mean, if you want to, that is,” he quickly adds.

“Sam,” you interrupt him with a laugh, unable to hold it in. “This isn’t the first time I’ve shared a room with you.” You gesture to his brother slumped in the armchair. “Or him, for that matter. I promise you this doesn’t have to be weird.”

He looks dumbfounded for a split second, but then gets over it with a small chuckle of his own. “You know, you’re right. I’m, sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“I get it,” you say, your mood quickly sobering. “It’s been a while.”

The small smile he had for a brief moment fades, and he clears his throat once more, bowing his head while he pulls his laptop out of the bag and sets it on the mattress. Realizing the conversation is over, you turn to your own things, busying yourself with trying to figure out what will be essential for the overnight stay.

Anything to distract you from the static tension between you. Maybe things aren’t weird, but they are different, maybe in a way that can’t be gone back upon. It hurts to know that the choices you’ve made have led to this dynamic, but then again, they’ve also led you to where you now stand. Feet away from him, no longer separated by multiple states.

A week ago, you never would have expected this.

“I’ll take a shower first,” Sam says unexpectedly. “If you want to order food, there’s a credit card in the front pocket of my wallet.”

After you nod to affirm your understanding, he grabs a fresh set of clothes and heads into the bathroom, closing the door. You hear the click of a lock, and a few minutes later, the water turns on. You take a breath, refusing to focus on the idea of only a wall separating you and a showering Sam.

Now would be a good time to record that voice memo, you realize. Settling onto your bed, you open the recording app on your phone, hoping it won’t pick up the sounds of the running shower.

“Hey,” you start, watching the sound waves of the word appear on the recording track. “I know you’re either worried sick or furious right now, and I’m sorry for both, because I can’t tell you that anything I’m about to say is going to fix either of those.

“You’ve had enough time to consider where I am, so I doubt it’s a surprise if I tell you that I changed my mind about Sam. I know it’s impossible to understand because they’re strangers to you, and I used to wish it could be that way, but I can’t pretend that it is. Talking to Bobby - and don’t blame him, because I made this decision on my own - opened my eyes to some things, and I can’t just leave him to do this alone.

“In the process of that, it means leaving you, and I realize how messed up that is. I’m sure it’s hard to understand why I needed to choose, and if I did, why I chose what I did. Taking the time to explain that would, unfortunately, exceed what I’ve got the storage space for, but I just need you to know that this wasn’t easy. It wasn’t cut and dry. It never has been when it comes to them.

“And because I know how you think, I also need you to know that this isn’t me saying you mean any less to me. It means the world that I found such an amazing group of women who taught me how to move on. Not that you knew it at the time, but you did. You let me feel like it was okay to be happy again, and I’ll never stop being grateful for that. It’s just shitty timing. And I know that sounds like a cop-out, but it’s the truth.

“Maybe a year from now, if I had run into Sam and Dean in some run down bar, I wouldn’t have cared. Maybe I would’ve walked away and washed my hands of it forever, and we could have walked off into the sunset. But it happened yesterday, and as little sense as it makes to me still, I know what I have to do.

“I don’t want to say that this is the last time you’ll hear from me, but I also don’t want to promise that I’ll be in touch, because I don’t know if I can afford that. I have to give all of myself to this now, so I won’t be making that promise to you. I’ve already broken enough of them already.

“So for now, Isabelle Vidal, this is goodbye. I love you.”

You knew your voice had been getting shaky towards the end, but as soon as you end the recording and send it, you just let yourself fall apart. You curl your knees up to your chest, tossing your phone to the other end of the mattress and burying your face into the worn fabric of your jeans. The tears come easy, easier than they ever have.

So easy that you don’t notice the water shutting off until the door opens and you jerk upright, scrambling to wipe the streaks on your cheek away with your sleeves.

But there’s no way to cover up the red puffiness of your eyes or the waver in your voice when he asks if you’re alright and you say “Yeah.”

He stares at you, putting together the pieces, then takes a few steps forward, and in the end, he just stands there with wet hair and a loosely fitted t-shirt hanging on his torso, unsure of what he should do.

“It’s fine, honestly,” you say, unashamedly giving one last sniffle. “I’m sorry, I-I should have ordered food, I’ll do that now.”

You start to fumble with your phone, but he stops you. “No, Y/N, don’t worry about it,” he says, reaching out and gently holding your wrist in place. “I’ll handle food. Just take a shower, okay? You look like you could use it.”

Deciding not to argue for the second time, you silently nod and pull a clean outfit for the night out of your suitcase. You head into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door, and resolve that by the time you walk out, you’ll be able to smile like you mean it.

It’s a lot to ask of yourself, but you’ve learned that this is the only way to let yourself move past something. You’ve got to focus on it and give it its time, but not any longer than you’re willing.

Maybe not the healthiest habit, but you manage.

You get undressed and take your travel sized bottles of shampoo and body wash into the shower, drawing the curtain closed behind you.

The water is more lukewarm than hot, though you can’t say you’re surprised. At the very least, it’s a brief refresher, washing away the oil and grease. The last time you were in a car for this long, you hadn’t met Issy yet.

 _Issy_. You tilt your head back to let the water run over your face for a moment, massaging shampoo into your scalp. It really is for the best, all of this.

You slather soap across your abdomen and down your arms, over criss crossings and pinpricks of scars. She used to ask where they came from. You would never tell her.

Over the years, you’d watched as Sam and Dean brought other people into their lives, or people that walked in uninvited and thought it was safe to stay. It rarely ever ended well, and you were not about to subject someone you loved to that.

It was all borrowed time anyway.

After you’ve done a sufficient job of getting clean, you shut down the water and dry off with the flimsy towel hanging from the rack. It’s not very absorbent, but it’ll do.

Once you’re in fresh clothes, you feel much better. Still tired, but no longer sluggish.

You can hear the TV on in the other room. It sounds like Hell’s Kitchen; Gordon Ramsay’s signature yelling is impossible to miss. Smiling to yourself, you open the door and step out of the bathroom, and in doing so, you let whatever reservations you have about this wash away like water down a drain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo what'd you think??
> 
> Maybe the one room thing was a little predictable, but how could I NOT? I just couldn't help myself. I know it's a pretty stereotypical trope, but I'm a sucker for this one in particular, so it is what it is.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and as always, feedback is much appreciated! See you in the next chapter!


	6. Pizza Was All You Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Reader struggle through the challenges of staying in a room together - pt 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for 100 hits!! If you're reading this, I'm glad you're here, and enjoy the chapter!

“What are you watching?” you ask.

Sam looks up at the sound of your voice. “Hell’s Kitchen.” Just as you thought. “I ordered pizza, I hope that’s okay.”

“Hmm. Depends what kind.”

“Half pepperoni, half cheese?”

“Sounds good to me.” You plop down on your bed, rearranging your hair so it won’t get the pillows wet. The mattress is, unfortunately, nowhere near the quality of hotel beds, but it’ll do. There’s a sort of rugged familiarity to the creak of the springs and the somewhat discernable lumps under the sheets.

“We can probably get an early start tomorrow,” Sam says. Keeping conversation business. Good. “If we get on the road by six or seven, we should be able to make it there mid afternoon.”

“I’m not used to waking up early, that’s for sure,” you sigh. “I’ll have to set an alarm, I guess.”

“If anything else, I can splash some water on your face,” he offers, and you smile slightly. “Always seems to do the trick on Dean.”

“Have you tried that?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Splashing water on him.”

He stares at you like you’ve got a third eye in the middle of your forehead. “What?” you defend. “It’s kind of, you know, like with computers, it’s always ‘Did you try turning it off and on again?’ Just with humans.”

“You …” He shakes his head, realizing you’re joking, and leans back with a huff of a laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I like to think so.”

You watch TV for a few minutes, watching a female contestant desperately checking the oven for the third time to see if her pastry is done baking yet, when Sam breaks the silence again. “So what exactly have you been doing these past two years?”

It takes you by surprise for a moment. You didn’t think he’d want to hear about this kind of thing, the life you had away from him and Dean.

“Uh, well, I searched for jobs for a bit. Didn’t really work out, it’s not like I have much experience.” Your mouth quirks up resentfully. “Got my parents to thank for that.”

He shifts uncomfortably, so you move on before either of you can sit on it for too long. “Anyway, I was grabbing dinner at an Outback when I ran into Kara. She liked the look of me - or at least that’s what she told me - so she asked if I’d be interested in joining her biker group.”

“I didn’t take you as one to ride a motorcycle cross country,” Sam admits.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly a novice,” you point out, thinking about the times that a motorcycle made more sense than a car when it came to getting somewhere for a case. “I was interested, but unsure, so she gave me her card and told me to call her if I changed my mind.”

“What settled it for you?”

You bite your lip. “Alright, listen, this is a little embarrassing, so I’m gonna need this to be a judgment free zone for the next few minutes.”

He lifts up his hands. “No judgment here.”

“So I went to a clothing store, right. It was pretty small, not a chain name or anything. And I saw this leather jacket hanging up on a mannequin.”

A grin spreads across Sam’s face, and you try to ignore the way it makes you want to snapshot this moment in time. “I tried it on, because I had to, of course, and it fit like a glove. Called her back that night, and by the next night, we were gone.”

“Wow. That fast, huh?” You shrug. “You still got the jacket?”

“Nah, I got it snagged on a nail sticking out of a table at a bar one time. Ripped the sleeve open.”

He raises his eyebrows, and you snort. “Yeah, I know, pretty lame way to go. It was an awesome jacket, though, you’ll just have to take my word or it.”

“I believe you,” he chuckles. “It’d have to be some jacket to convince you to pack up and join a biker gang.”

“You’ve got that right.” You smile wistfully, thinking about how well tailored that jacket was. It might as well have been love at first sight, or maybe fate that it was hanging just within your line of sight. Or something else equally silly and naive that you could use to excuse your life choices.

The happiness fades when you think about the first time you met Issy, the stupid line she used on you when she saw you walk in the door wearing it - “If you ask me, it would look better on my floor.”

You shove the hurt down and refuse to let it take over you, but Sam notices the change in your mood, and he looks away, the humor sliding off of his face in an instant. “Sorry, I’m sure there are a lot of memories associated with it.”

“Yeah, something like that.” You’re fidgeting with your thumbs when there’s a knock on the door, and you perk up, grasping onto this as a lifeline. “Sounds like the pizza’s here.”

After a moment of thought, you shift the TV on the cabinet to mostly shield Dean’s body from view while Sam glances through the peephole and opens the door.

“Hi,” he greets the boy on the other side, pulling a twenty out of his pocket. “Here, keep the change.”

Pizza box in hand, the boy just stares at him, and after looking at him for a moment, you watch his eyes flick to black and back to normal again. You feel a spike of alarm, but too late. As Sam reaches out to hand him the money, the boy grabs hold of his wrist and with a surprisingly firm grasp, swings him to the side. Caught by surprise, he slams into the wall, knocking him off balance and sending him reeling backwards.

Heart racing, you dive towards your bag and pull out the knife you acquired years ago from a friend you met on a hunt. It’s silver, which won’t do you much good, now, but it’ll have to work.

You haven’t had to deal with danger like this in a long time. Pretty often, you’d have to ward off a guy or two who wanted to mess with one of the girls, or with you and Issy while you were together, but that was never a big deal. Even if it got physical, you knew you were more than capable of defending yourself against them, and if any of the girls witnessed it, you chalked it up to “martial arts classes you’d taken since you were a preteen.”

But this was different. This was otherworldly, and it didn’t just want to mess with you or have a good time. It wanted you dead.

“What do you want?” you demand, getting into a defensive position as Sam backs up into the room, still trying to get his bearings back.

“I have a message,” the boy smiles, tilting his head in an unnervingly jerky manner, and when he opens his mouth again, he sounds different. Harsher and almost echoey. “Your brother is in danger, Sam Winchester. And your new plaything is, too.” A far from happy laugh. “There are many things you don’t know, but you’ll discover them soon enough. In the meantime, here’s a little treat for both of you. I’m sure you could use the action.”

Without warning, he leaps at you, and you barely lunge out of the way in time, feeling the ripple of air from his passing fingers. You try to get a stab in, but he’s already whirling around, and you realize he has a rusty letter opener clutched in one fist.

“Sam, his right hand!” you yell as the demon flies towards him next, and he narrowly dodges its upward swing. He brings his knee up into its exposed abdomen and shoves it away. It slams into the TV stand but retains its grip on the letter opener; as it rights itself, it chuckles, holding the weapon in front of itself.

“You have no idea what you’re up against,” it growls, then tilts its head back, choking. Realizing what it’s trying to do, Sam begins chanting in Latin.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ -”

The demon’s wrenches to its knees, briefly incapacitated by the start of the exorcism incantation. That signature gray smoke is pooling at the host’s mouth, but it can’t quite go yet.

“ _Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii_ ,” Sam continues. Thinking quickly, you grab Sam’s metal thermos from the side pocket of his bag and slam it into the demon’s temple, knocking it out cold. It slumps to the ground, expression caught in a half snarl.

“What was that for?” Sam asks, baffled.

“Don’t you think we should at least try to ask it a few things?” you question. “Try to figure out what it knows?”

He gives you a doubtful look. “I don’t know, Y/N, we’ve tried that in the past. It doesn’t usually work out too well, for either party involved.”

“We’ve got to try, though, right?”

Sam looks conflicted for a brief moment, but sighs, conceding with a nod. “There should be a can of spray paint in the bag.”

*****

Five minutes later, you’ve got the demon gagged and bound in a chair at the center of a spray painted devil’s trap, mostly hidden in the woods past the motel’s back end. You hand Sam the separate thermos of holy water you fished out along with the spray paint, and he unscrews the cap.

“Ready?” he asks you, and at your affirmative nod, he splashes the water over the demon’s front.

The reaction is immediate. It awakens with a muffled howl, and you cringe at the sound of sizzling skin. There’s a feral wildness in its eyes, and it thrashes against its rope constraints.

“These are to make sure you play nice,” you say, glaring at it. “We’re going to ask you some questions now, and you’re going to answer them.”

It narrows its eyes at you, then flicks them down to the strip of cloth covering its mouth. Sighing, you walk towards it, carefully watching for any movement of its feet or arms. The gag was more to quiet its initial awakening cry, anyway.

You tentatively reach forward and pull the gag down, then pull your arm away, but you’re not fast enough. It lashes out at you and sinks its teeth into your forearm. You yell out in pain, and then Sam is there, slicing a dagger of his own across its cheek. It recoils with a hiss; he must have put some of the holy water on it, you think as he takes your arm and pulls you backwards. You check the lines in the trap once you’re a safe distance away; they’re all still intact.

“You okay?” he asks, something dangerous lingering on his face before vanishing.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, though you’ll definitely have to take a look at it later. You turn your attention to the demon now, scowling. “Alright, enough with the niceties. Who sent you here?”

It lets out a raspy laugh, the cut across its face vibrant and angry. “I have no reason to say anything to you.”

You glance at Sam, and he flicks more holy water onto the demon. It growls through clenched teeth, jerking against its restraints once more. “I keep my word,” it snarls, though there’s a strained hoarseness to its voice. It grins, and somehow, it makes human teeth look demented. “I know you’ll just send me back downstairs anyway. Not that it matters - this host is already done for.”

You furrow your brows, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Sam’s hand flex into a fist. “What are you talking about?”

“You think I wouldn’t take out some insurance?” It sneers at you. “This body is riddled with knife holes. I just stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed …”

“Enough!” you exclaim, feeling the anger bubble up under your skin. Somewhere in there is an innocent human being who has felt everything this horrid creature has been doing.

You turn your head to look at Sam. “Do it.”

He straightens, a conflicted expression spreading over his face. “Y/N-”

“We don’t have a choice, Sam.” The words hurt you, because you’ve always tried to believe that there is a choice, no matter what. And maybe there is, but not one that makes sense.

Sighing, he begins the Latin chant. “ _Exorcizamus te_ …”

By the end, the demon is convulsing, still laughing till the very last moment as it dissipates from the boy’s body, gray smoke sinking into the ground.

In an instant, the boy groans, a purely human sound, and you rush towards him. “Sam, help me.” You work on the knots at his feet and wrists and Sam uses his knife to cut through the bindings at his shoulders; soon enough, you have the boy free, and he lets out a harsh gasp as you lower him down to the ground.

With the demon gone from his body, the wounds inflicted to his body quickly become apparent. Blood quickly soaks through the front of his uniform and darkens the fabric of his khakis. His head lolls back, his eyes half glazed over. “What’s going on?” he whispers.

“What’s your name?” you ask softly, carefully cupping your hand under the back of his head.

“Benjamin.”

“Alright, Benjamin. We’re going to stay with you, okay? I’m going to stay with you.”

“Where am I?” he breathes, coughing and immediately seizing up with pain at how the force of it wracks his body.

“You’re in Missouri,” you tell him, speaking quietly. “I’m not sure what town we’re in, but it can’t be far from where you live.”

“Good … that’s good.” He swallows lightly, weakly trying to press a hand to his stomach. “I don’t want to die.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you try to hold them back. There’s no point in his last sight being a vision of you crying. “I know. I promise, there are better things waiting for you. You won’t be in pain much longer.”

“How do you know?” he asks, his breathing getting shallow. “What if there’s just …”

His chest stills, and his face goes slack. You take in a shaky breath. “Benjamin?”

No response.

A moment later, you feel a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N,” he says quietly, “we can’t stay.”

You look up to see Sam standing behind you, casting a sad smile down at you. The smile of someone who understands the pain you’re going through because he’s had to do this hundreds of times over.

“I know,” you murmur. “I know.”

In the end, once both of you have washed up and cleaned your clothes at a local laundromat, Sam calls the police station and puts in an anonymous tip for where they’ll be able to find Benjamin’s body. He tosses the burner phone on the side of the road as soon as he hangs up, and you head back to the motel.

You’re bone tired by the time you close the door and lock it, running your hands through your hair with a sigh. It’s near midnight, and you haven’t even gotten a chance to eat anything yet.

You’re not sure you could keep food down at this point, anyway.

“How are you holding up?” Sam asks, walking to Dean and putting his hand against his forehead. Based on the lack of a reaction, he must be more or less the same.

“I don’t know.”

He glances at you, lips pulling into a line. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think things would go this way tonight.”

“It’s not your fault.” You let out a bitter laugh. “You couldn’t have known. Neither of us could have known.”

There’s really nothing left to say after that; he’s smart enough to know that there are no words that could console you in this moment.

Thirty minutes later, you hear the wail of approaching sirens, and as you sit back in your bed, you can’t help the stir of resentment in your stomach. It’s this. This is what you ran from, what you never wanted to see again.

Looking at Dean slouched in the chair, you can only hope there will be some sort of end to this. If you’re lucky, maybe it will even be a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo thoughts on that?
> 
> I hope the fight scene was okay. I didn't want it to be too intense, because the main action's got to be saved for later, but I wanted to spice things up and give a further glimpse into the dynamic between Sam and Reader. Hopefully that came across decently.
> 
> Thanks for reading everybody. As always, feedback is much appreciated - I'd love to hear your opinions on how things are going. I hope you're having a good night/day (personally, it's currently 12:40 A.M. as I post this and I am tired), and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	7. Familiar Streets and Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Reader make it to Lauria's; she has some interesting information for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things at the end! Enjoy your read.

You sleep restlessly. The bite marks on your arm are shallow but still sting through the bandage you wrapped around them, an unkind reminder of the night’s events. After such a jarring introduction back into the world of life on the road, you suppose you never should have expected to rest soundly anyway.

The next morning when your alarm goes off, you wake with confusion, unable to remember by you would have set one. Still only half conscious, you roll over and deactivate it, and that’s when you feel the motel mattress under you and hear the sound of running water telling you Sam is already in the shower.

You stretch out your limbs with a groan, pushing yourself up on your elbows before sitting up completely. It’s bizarre, and you feel guilty for the flicker of longing that wishes you were back in bed with Issy and waking up to pancakes again.

 _Priorities_. You push the covers off of you and stand, stretching again. While Sam is in the bathroom, you start getting your things together. Your phone has full battery after spending all night plugged into the bedside outlet; you wrap the cord up and tuck it into the front pocket of your suitcase. You have thirty seven missed calls from Issy, but you ignore them.

As you’re pulling together an outfit for the day, the water shuts off, and minutes later, Sam exits the bathroom. A strange expression crosses his face when he sees you, but it’s gone in a split second. “Morning,” he greets you, dressed in his usual flannel layering. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I guess so,” you shrug. “Just woke up a few minutes ago.” You take your pile of clothes and nod towards the bathroom. “I won’t be long.”

The shower is more of an early morning wake up than anything else. Your hair should still be good, so you just focus on scrubbing your body. Within ten minutes, you’re out of the shower and drying off.

You walk out with jeans and a long sleeved Panic! At The Disco shirt on, and Sam raises his eyebrows when he sees it. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

You give him a shrug, putting your nightclothes back in your suitcase. “I’ve been known to listen from time to time.”

It doesn’t take you long to get the rest of your things gathered and put away, and after you return the keys to the the front desk and Sam strongarms Dean into the backseat again, you head out.

“I think we passed a small cafe type thing on our way into town yesterday,” you mention as he pulls out of the parking lot. “We could maybe stop there for breakfast.”

Five minutes later, the two of you are carrying breakfast wraps back to the Impala. “This smells heavenly,” Sam sighs, climbing into the driver’s seat while you go around.

“It’s been a while since I had to-go food,” you admit, getting settled and pulling the door shut. “It’s an experience alright.”

You each enjoy your food in silence as you get back on the road, eventually reaching the highway. At that point, it’s just 80 miles an hour cruising, and the longer you spend like this, the worse you feel.

It’s easy to get caught up in the everyday-ness of it all, but it doesn’t change the fact that Dean is passed out in the backseat. He needs to be the first priority.

You glance back at him, and even though you know nothing will have changed, it gives you both comfort and unease to see that he’s still there.

Almost like he knows what you’re thinking, Sam says, “We’ll figure it out. He’ll be okay. We’ve made it through a hell of a lot worse than this.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, you’re not wrong on that one.” You think about all of the death defying stunts you’ve pulled, the fates you’ve dodged. It’s an honest miracle that you’re all still alive.

“What do you want me to say to Lauria when we get there?” you ask. “I feel like we should have some sort of explanation planned out.”

“You mean, how much do I want you to tell her,” Sam translates, and you give a little shrug. “I mean, I’m not sure we can afford to hold on to too much information on this one. I don’t want to withhold anything that might help her figure out what’s going on with him.”

“Good point.” Blinking, you remember why him and Dean were in town in the first place. “Did Bobby ever give you any updates on the case you guys were working?”

He gives a wry smile. “Yeah, he called after you were asleep. Turns out it wasn’t a witch, or anything supernatural, actually. Just some teenager who had a bone to pick with his administration, I guess.”

Frowning, you put the pieces together in your head. “Were the vics all teachers?”

He nods in confirmation. “All the same school. Bobby said he talked to some of the people in the community, and a few of them said their kids had mentioned the guy’s disagreements with his teachers.”

You let out a low whistle. “A little bit intense for a grudge, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, just a bit. As far as Bobby knows, charges are being pressed, but he’s not sure how it’ll go.”

You settle back into the seat. “I bet it feels good to get a normal case once in a while, huh?”

“Something like that.” He keeps his head facing forward, but you can tell by the way he’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel that he’s debating whether or not to say something.

“What?”

“What?”

You snort. “Say what you want to say, dude. Also, you’re way too easy to read.”

He laughs reluctantly. “I was going to ask what you were doing in town. I mean, if it was anything special.”

Thinking back to Kara’s announcement a few days ago of where you would be moving to next, you shake your head. “Nothing really special, just passing through. I guess Averie’s bike needed to be fixed, so that was probably part of it, but I don’t think we would have stayed more than a few days.”

A nod of understanding. “How often would you guys move around?”

“It would depend,” you tell him, smiling softly when you think about the game Kara would let you play sometimes, throwing a dart at a map of the States to decide. “We would pretty much go until we were running low on money, and at that point, we would try to find somewhere with a good amount of jobs open.”

“So you would all work at the same time?” he asks.

“Yeah, the cash racked up quicker that way.”

“Makes sense.”

He hasn’t changed at all, you think. Or, maybe he has, but not in any ways you’ve seen so far. He’s still attentive, listening to what you’re telling him and showing genuine interest in your replies to his questions. His inquiries aren’t unnatural or forced, it’s just that he actually wants to know more about what you’ve been up to in life.

You don’t talk too much until you stop for lunch at a roadside diner, but it’s a comfortable quiet. Not the kind of quiet you thought you’d be experiencing, but you welcome it. It’s a blessing, in a way - neither of you feel the need to force conversation, and that helps ease the strain of things.

As he predicted, you reach Lauria’s city, Massillon, at 3 P.M., and even then, it’s only because you ran into a bit of a jam from an accident on the side of the highway. Looking out the window, you watch the buildings go by, most of them cubes or rectangles with just about as many windows as they could fit on each wall.

“It’s been a while since I was up this far,” you comment. “Normally Lauria and I would just Skype or something. There’s been a lot of development since then.”

“I bet.” You catch Sam glancing around at the architecture through the windshield and you and realize something.

“Wait, you’ve never been here before, have you?”

“Nope.”

“How do you know where you’re going then?”

He offers you a half grin. “I have my ways, and that’s all you need to know.”

“Right, because that’s not suspicious at all. Not serial killer-y.”

He rolls his eyes, but it’s playful, his expression light. “If I was a serial killer, I’m pretty sure I’d have been found out by now.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, Dean letting me out of his sight isn’t exactly a frequent occurrence.”

“You’re gonna have to give me better than that.”

“Well-I mean-”

You laugh, amused at how flustered he’s getting. “You know I’m joking, right?”

“Well, yeah,” he says defensively.

“You’ve started your past three sentences with ‘well.’ That is not a sign of a man who is innocent of being a serial killer.”

“What are you, a biker therapist now?”

You have to turn away to the window to avoid letting him see the unbridled smile on your face, the result of this warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, the one you’re unable to push down. You can’t deny how much you enjoy this banter. You’ve missed it.

After you take a few more turns, you reach the part of the city that you recognize. You pass by the pizzeria she took you out for lunch to the last time you were here, and you sigh, suddenly faced with the genuine scope of how long it’s been since you last saw her. You haven’t exactly been good about keeping in touch.

“Nostalgia?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, a bit.” You purse your lips, turning back to face forward. “I don’t know how she’s going to react.”

“I think it’ll be okay,” he says, his voice gentle. It’s easy to forget how soothing he can be, a quality that certainly came in handy during cases. “You two have been friends for a while. That thing doesn’t just easily go away with time.”

“I know you’re right. I just worry anyway.”

One thing you’ve always been grateful for is that he doesn’t try to force advice or initiate a conversation about something deep if he knows he doesn’t have anything to say on the matter. He knows that there are just things you will be worried about, and in knowing that he won’t be able to change your mind, you lapse into silence once more.

After ten or fifteen more minutes, you reach Lauria’s neighborhood, and a slight smile tugs at your lips. These houses with their sectioned off yards and white wood fences remind you of better times.

Well, maybe not better times, necessarily, but easier ones.

Her house is fairly small, with brick columns in front of the porch and light yellow walls. You take a breath as Sam pulls into the driveway, bringing the Impala to a halt and putting it in park before shutting the engine off. “Here we are.”

Both of you exit the car, shutting the doors. You pat Baby’s hood before heading up the driveway, Sam by your side. You climb the steps of the porch, your heart beginning to beat faster even though you have no reason to be afraid.

“Do you want to knock, or should I?” you ask.

“Go for it.”

Steeling yourself for whatever response may come, you take a leaning step forward and rap on the door three times.

You know you’re not allowed to take solace in Sam’s presence anymore, but you find yourself drawing comfort from it anyway, fighting the urge to shift closer to him. You can’t imagine standing up here alone, waiting agonizingly long seconds for a response.

Eventually, the sound of movement comes from the other side of the door. It swings open, and there stands Lauria, dressed in pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt it looks like she just threw on.

She takes in the sight of the two of you, not saying anything for a moment and then puffing out a sighing breath. “Well, I guess I knew this day would come.”

You brace yourself to be told off, for her to demand where you’ve been, but neither of those things happen. Instead, she smiles at you, and even though her eyes are tired, you can tell it’s genuine. Your nerves are still buzzing, but your overall tension melts away, and you pull her into a hug.

“Hey yourself,” she laughs, returning your embrace with a fierce grip. “It’s been too long, Y/N. Please, come in.” She steps back and peers out of the door frame, a slight frown coming to her face. “Dean anywhere around here?”

You and Sam exchange a glance, and she narrows her eyes at the movement. “Yeah, about that …”

Twenty minutes later, Dean is draped across one of the sofas in Lauria’s living room area. Sam is seated on the armchair to your right, Lauria and you on a brown leather loveseat. It’s a new addition to the home since you last saw it.

“I don’t pretend to know how you got yourself into this situation,” she starts, “but I’m guessing you want my help.”

“Trust me, we’ve got no idea either,” you say, grimacing. “I know it’s a lot to ask - I haven’t exactly given you reason to want me to do you any favors.”

“Y/N, we’ve been friends for a long while. You never have to ask for favors.”

You give a grateful smile. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what he’d do, either,” she says, standing and heading over to Dean. “You said he’s got a pulse?”

“Somehow.”

She reaches down to his write, pressing her index and middle finger to the base of his thumb. After a few moments, she lets out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. Things could never stay the same level of weird, could they?”

“Then things would get boring,” you mutter.

Lauria returns to her seat next to you, grabbing one of the books stacked on the coffee table. “Boring isn’t all bad,” she reasons as she starts to flip through some of the pages. “It certainly gives you time for other things.”

“Like what, knitting seahorse sweaters?” you tease.

“Alright, listen, I don’t want to hear it. It was a phase!”

You shake your head, grinning, and when you look up, you lock eyes with Sam, looking more or less unsure of himself in the middle of all the furniture. There’s a wistful edge to his expression, but he manages a small smile nonetheless.

“I’ve got a contact on the west coast who’s seen something like this before,” she continues, sobering up a bit. “Not with a pulse, but a heartbeat. All the same symptoms otherwise.”

Sam shifts forward. “What happened to them?”

Shaking her head, she says, “They didn’t make it.”

You see him tense, and you shoot him a look, trying to communicate as much reassurance as you can. “Did your contact know what happened to them?”

“It was some sort of curse. Of the ancient variety, of course. It takes millenia to manifest that sort of grudge.”

“I did a good amount of research on ancient deities and cursed objects,” Sam objects, his brows knitted. “How obscure is it?”

“You’re not going to find anything on the internet, or in any history book in any library.” You’ve never known Lauria to be a person of superstitious nature, but she glances around almost apprehensively, even though you’re the only ones here and the doors and windows are locked. “It’s not a normal kind of curse, I guess. My contact only recognized it because it was a passed down folktale in her family.”

“Seems like a hell of a coincidence,” Sam comments.

She nods. “That’s what I told her at the time. By then, though, most of the older members of her family had already passed, and she and her siblings had never been told in depth what would need to be done to lift the curse. They were given the ingredients, but no real instruction for how to obtain them.”

You ponder this for a moment. “Well, lucky for us, we have access to a lot more resources. Not to mention years of experience.”

“I can contact her, if you like,” Lauria offers. “I can’t promise it’ll be an immediate response, but she should get back to me soon if I tell her it’s urgent.”

“I hope it’s not too much to ask.”

“It’s not a problem,” she says, laying a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to see anyone in this situation, much less one of my oldest friends.”

You smile, thankful that she is still the same loyal, kind, resilient woman you grew up with. Time is cruel to most of the unfortunate souls exposed to the truth of the world, but she’s never been resentful of her open eyes.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Sam asks Lauria, standing. “I don’t know, buy you dinner or wine or something? I feel like I’m intruding, and it’d be impolite not to offer.”

She waves him off, as you knew she would. “Not at all. I know you and I don’t know each other very well, but you are a friend of Y/N’s. That’s how you and your brother were introduced to me, and that is more than enough.”

She seems to hesitate, then adds, “If you need a place to stay, my home is open to you.”

You raise your eyebrows, taken aback by the gesture. You still remember her reluctance to host events at her place, her wariness any time you, Sam, and Dean brought a person to her for help. She has always been particular with her personal space, especially when it comes to her house. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I can’t imagine you’re just _dying_ to check into a motel, am I wrong?”

You laugh, a giddy elation rising at the prospect of getting to spend some time with her before you have to move on. “You certainly are not.”

“It’s settled then.” She checks her phone. “Well, it’s almost 4. If you want, you guys can rest for a bit, let the road fatigue wear off, and then we could go out for dinner?”

You grin. “I’d like that.”

“Alright, sounds good.” She gets to her feet, taking a moment to stretch her feet, then says, “I’ll go try my contact on the phone; if she doesn’t pick up, I’ll leave a voicemail.”

“Thanks, Lauria.”

“Any time.” She flashes you a smile before exiting the living room, heading around a corner towards her bedroom. A few moments later, you hear the sound of a door being softly shut.

Sam sighs, taking a seat again and eyeing Dean where he lays splayed on the sofa. “So … thoughts on an ancient curse?”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you admit. “It’s always something like that, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” Now that he’s sitting back, his legs look crowded in the sectioned off area, his feet almost sliding under the lower platform of the coffee table. “I was kind of hoping there would be a simpler answer.”

You give a wry smile. “There never is, is there?”

“Feels that way sometimes.”

Chewing on your lip, you debate whether or not it would be an overstep, but you decide to trust your gut. With tentative motions, you reach your hand out and lay it over his, his gaze immediately snapping to yours. “We’ll fix this, Sam. I promise.”

His skin is rough under your touch, a familiar sensation that you try not to focus on. He’s looking at you with some sort of emotion in his eyes, but you can’t place it, and you don’t want to dwell on it. You take back your hand, clearing your throat, and the two of you sit in a semi-tense silence until Lauria comes back.

And as she tells you that she left a voicemail for her contact, mentioning that she’s hopeful she’ll get a response soon, you feel a frantic spike of panic followed by an aching twist of guilt in your gut at the realization that you haven’t thought about Issy since you got off the highway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo!
> 
> Sorry for the slight delay in posting of this chapter - I mean, objectively, it wasn't a long time, but relative to how quickly I was posting before. It's been a long week of virtual school, and this Tuesday, we're going back in person, so I will say that this is the point where updates will probably start slowing down. I fully intend to continue working on this story in my spare time, as I like where it's going, but I do have to prioritize schoolwork first.
> 
> That said, what are your thoughts on the plot and where things are headed? Any predictions? As always, feedback is much appreciated. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you're having a good morning/day/night wherever you are. See you in the next chapter! Many interesting things to come ...


	8. What Can't Be Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Reader spend the night at Lauria's. Some things are said.

A few hours later, you and Lauria are sitting in a booth at Buffalo Wild Wings, perusing the menus while music fills the air between you.

Sam elected to stay behind at Lauria’s. “Are you sure?” you’d asked him, lingering in the doorway.

“Yeah, I’m positive,” he’d replied. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on Dean, and I’m sure you could use the time to catch up.”

You had pursed your lips, reluctant but unable to deny that some time alone with Lauria didn’t sound all bad. A slight and knowing smile on his face, he’d urged you to go, and here you are.

“So,” she says, drawing your attention to her, “back in the life, huh?”

“Something like that,” you sigh. “I’m hoping it’s only temporary.”

She raises her eyebrows at you, but ends up commenting on something else instead. “I notice you left your phone behind. Someone you’re trying to avoid?”

“Something like that,” you repeat.

“You know, you can tell me about him,” she smirks, taking a sip of her iced tea. “I don’t judge.”

“She,” you correct her, because you can’t help it. “I would be telling you about a ‘her.’”

Lauria stares at you for a moment before a broad grin spreads across her face. “I called that, Y/N Y/L/N. Did I not? Years ago. Absolutely, I did, and you know what you said? ‘No, Lauria, I don’t think girls are hot.’”

“I didn’t have things figured out back then,” you mutter, running your nail along the inside of your palm. “Now I do. Or, I did.”

Her gaze of triumph turns to one of sympathy. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy to leave her behind.”

“No,” you agree, “it wasn’t. And she’s been texting and calling ever since I left, so … The phone stays there.”

“Fair enough,” she concedes. “I’m sorry if I pushed.”

“No, not at all. You couldn’t have known.” You give her a small shrug. “This is just how things go sometimes. Should have seen it coming.”

She regards you carefully, eyes scanning your face with the shrewdness of a friend who knows all your telling expressions. “You love her, don’t you?”

You glance over the wraps offered on the menu, thinking about everything you left unsaid. “Yeah. I do.”

The two of you end up ordering a party size plate of wings to share, requesting extra sauce as per tradition. Perhaps sensing your ongoing emotional conflict on the matter, Lauria steers the conversation away from love and other complicated matters, letting you ask her questions instead.

“What happened to Daniel?” you ask, noting her distinct lack of mention of her perhaps former boyfriend.

“Oh, it didn’t work out,” she sighs, turning her bundle of silverware left and right on the table. “He was looking to move things a little faster than I was comfortable with.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do I need to beat him up?” You know she’s aware that you are perfectly capable of such a thing.

“No, no, nothing like that,” she assures you. “He wanted to move in together.”

“Ah,” you say. “You doing alright?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she says, waving a hand. “Being single does have its perks, after all.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Well, for one, you’ve got empty room upstairs to offer your long time friend when she shows up on your doorstep.”

You laugh a little, but you can’t knock the guilt that stirs in your stomach. “I am sorry about that. I don’t think I’ve apologized yet.”

“Y/N, you have nothing to apologize for,” she insists. “I understand that you needed to get away from your old life, and I don’t have any judgment towards you for that.”

“Have I ever told you you’re amazing?”

“I should hope so.”

The wings are equally if not more delicious than you remember, and with good company and laughter-inducing conversation that almost makes you choke on multiple occasions, you selfishly find yourself glad that you’ve got this time with her to yourself. As much as you feel for Sam and the stress he must be under right now, you’re more than happy to take this one normal night, to pretend that things are as they used to be.

“Do you think you could talk him into staying one more day?” she asks you on the drive back, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time to the Ariana Grande song blasting on the radio.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It might be nice to go out or something. I’m sure you could use a change of wardrobe.”

You lift one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. He knows that we can’t really go anywhere until we know what we’re looking for.”

“Yeah.” The Ariana song ends, and she reaches forward to change the station. “I’m sorry you have to rely on something so … unreliable, I guess.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s the best we’ve got, anyway, so I’ll take it.”

Sam is watching TV in the living room when you walk through the door, and he shifts to sit up, an apologetic look on his face. “I hope you don’t mind-”

“You’re fine,” Lauria interrupts him with a laugh. “I’ve got the thing for a reason, you might as well make use of it.”

She glances out the kitchen window; beyond the glass, it’s dark, even more so than it was just on the start of the return drive. “It’s getting late; want me to show you upstairs?”

Both of you nod, Sam standing from the sofa, and Lauria leads you up the stairs. They’re still carpeted, like you remember, softening your footfalls as you ascend to the second floor.

It’s small, more of an expanded loft than anything else, and she passes by the pool table to open the door to …

A single room.

With a single bed.

You and Sam stand side by side, staring at the predicament that had captured both of your attention.

“Uh, Lauria-”

“I’ll take the couch,” Sam interrupts, his cheeks flushed pink. If it weren’t such an uncomfortable situation, you might have burst out laughing; you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him this embarrassed before, except for maybe during the times Dean tried to pick up girls for him.

You throw a sideways glance at him, thinking about how little he’s gotten the chance to spend the night in a comfortable bed over the past years. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve been staying in motels for so long. You should probably take the bed-”

“Y/N, it’s okay,” he says firmly, looking for all the world like he just wants to get out of the situation. “I would still take a couch over a motel bed any day, and I want to keep an eye on Dean.”

You open your mouth to argue further, but he gives a slight shake of his head. “Do you have any extra blankets you can spare?” he asks, turning to Lauria. You blink, not sure whether to be relieved or hurt by his dismissiveness.

Settling on strained indifference, you head back down the stairs to grab your bag, leaving the two of them on the landing.

*****

You sit up, throwing the covers off of you with a sigh of frustration. Glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand, you see that it’s past midnight. Shaking your head, you get out of the bed and slip on a loose jacket, heading to the door and gently easing it open.

It’s dark and silent on the landing, and you squint, trying to see where the banister of the stairs begins. You feel with your hand and eventually find it, making your way down the stairs with caution.

As you approach the ground floor, you notice that there’s a faint but steady clacking sound coming from the direction of the living room. It sounds like a keyboard being typed on.

Slightly wary, you round the corner to see Sam stretched out on the couch with his back against the armrest, his laptop charging in his lap while he types away. Slightly taken off guard, you forget to step softly, and a floorboard creaks under your foot.

He twists around at the sound, a surprised expression on his face, then smiles. “Hey. I didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

“Yeah, I …” You clear your throat, your voice hoarse from a few hours’ lack of use. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I get that.”

You head to the cabinets to get something for water. “What are you up to?” you ask, opening the drinks cabinet and retrieving a plastic cup.

“Doing some research,” he replies, then chuckles under his breath. “Trying to, at least. I thought Lauria might be mistaken, but she’s right, there’s absolutely nothing on this.” He shrugs. “Except for the plot of a really questionable adult novel, but I doubt that’s a reliable source.”

“Yeah, probably not,” you smile, filling the cup with water from the tap and heading towards him. You take a seat in the armchair that he was in earlier, taking a sip.

“Any reason you couldn’t sleep?” he asks, still focused on his laptop.

“Not sure,” you say. “Restless, I guess.”

He nods. “Yeah. Believe me, I get that, too.”

You watch him work for a little bit, typing in the search bar and clicking on too many websites to count. If anyone tried to look at his search history, you’re certain there would be little of relevance until much further down.

Somehow, there’s no pressure now, no tension or stiffness between you. Maybe that’s what the quiet of nightfall does. It eases things.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” you tell him, and even though you’re not speaking loudly, it feels like you are. “I thought for sure you’d be halfway to the west coast by now. Although, I guess you wouldn’t really know where to go.”

“I honestly might be, but …” He pauses, his fingers stilling then resuming on the keyboard, and you’re confused for a moment, until you realize what he was about to say.

_But you’re here._

There’s an unpleasant drop in your stomach, and you clear your throat, getting to your feet. “I think I’ll just try and get some sleep then.”

Dismay spreads across his face. “Y/N, wait-”

You ignore him, clutching your cup tightly as you hurry back towards the stairs. As you pad up the carpeted steps, you listen for sounds of him following, but there are none.

Good. He knows your boundaries.

You return to the room, shutting the door behind you and clicking the lock into place without hesitation. Setting the cup of water on the nightstand, you fall backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

 _What am I doing here?_ you wonder, eyes roaming over the bumps and ridges in the surface above your head. _Clearly, I’m just a setback._

Biting your lip, knowing it’s a bad idea but in search for comfort nonetheless, you roll over, picking up your phone from where you left it on top of the blankets. Clicking it on, you’re greeted with ten more missed calls and five more texts from when you last checked it.

Not that you were counting or anything. Of course.

Some of them are from the other girls - a few from Averie, some from Lara and Kirsten, a slew of them from Kara - but you don’t want to focus on those right now.

You tap on your conversation with Issy, scrolling to the top of the long list of texts she’s sent to you since you left.

Y/N, where are you?

Please let me know if  
you’re okay

Are you with Bobby still?  
If you are, I’m sorry if  
I’m bothering you

Are you on your way back?

Y/N what the hell is this

Can you call me?

If it’s something I did,  
I’m sorry. I know you said  
it wasn’t, but I don’t  
believe you

Y/N please, call me back

You close your eyes, looking away from the screen for a moment. So she got the voice memo, at least. It was probably a sleazy thing to do, but you doubt you could have faced that kind of confrontation over the phone.

I’m sorry

Please talk to me

You know you can trust  
me, right?

I understand. I really  
do. Or I’m trying to.  
Please just call me. Or  
text me. Or something

I really miss you

Come back to me novia

You click your phone off and toss it to the end of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit of a shorter one! I thought this would be a good place to end the chapter, and I didn't want to just sit there with it finished and debating whether or not I should post it.
> 
> How do you feel about the way things are going down? Do you think a reconciliation is on the horizons? Let me know what you think!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you so much for reading, and as always, feedback is much appreciated. I hope you have a good morning / day / night wherever you are! See you in the next chapter.
> 
> ~ Wolf


	9. A Long Way From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a substantial lead at last, Sam and Reader head west.

You wake up to different surroundings for the second day in a row, greeted by the smell of bacon wafting up to you from the kitchen below. Sitting up, you notice that the door is open and there’s a note laid at the foot of the bed next to your phone. You lean forward and pull it closer to you.

“Y/N,” it reads, “my contact called me back early this morning. I’ll relay the information to you in greater detail once you’re awake, but I thought you should know, it seems like Sam wants to get moving. Come downstairs when you’re ready. Lauria.”

Heart racing, you throw off the covers and hurriedly pull clothes out of your suitcase, getting dressed in the bathroom. After freshening up as much as possible in a short amount of time, you unplug your phone from the charger on the nightstand and hurry down the stairs.

Sam and Lauria are talking in low voices on opposite sides of the the dining room table when you enter the kitchen, a map laid out on the surface between them. Sam turns when he sees you heading towards them, hesitation in his eyes. You pointedly avoid his gaze, pulling out the chair in the middle and shifting it next to Lauria’s.

The meaning isn’t lost on him; he clears his throat, but you just take a seat, casting your attention towards Lauria. “So, what’s the news?”

There’s a strange look on her face, but she shakes her head and nods to a a red line she’s drawn on the map in Sharpie. “This is the route you’re gonna want to take. It should be a pretty straight shot from here as long as you stick to the highway.”

“Gotcha.” You study the line, noting where it ends. “Idaho, huh?”

“She always was a farmland girl,” she grins. “She’s agreed to meet up with you and talk to you about the necessary ingredients. Like I said, her and her siblings aren’t entirely sure how to get them, but I’m sure you can figure that out.”

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

“When are you okay with leaving?” Sam asks, directing his attention towards you.

You cast a glance towards him, trying not to let any emotion show through on your face. “Just let me get my things together.”

“Need some help?” Lauria asks, and you nod, understanding what she’s doing. She folds up the map and hands it to Sam, then stands, gesturing for you to accompany her up the stairs.

You do so without a word, and without looking back. When you reach the upstairs room, Lauria closes the door behind you, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there in the silence.

“Y/N, I know it’s not really my place to ask, but did something happen between you and Sam?”

You purse your lips, unplugging your phone charger from the stand and heading into the bathroom to gather your toiletries. Lauria follows you, lingering just outside the door.

“I don’t really know what to tell you,” you say after a moment. “I don’t think there’s anything _between_ him and I anymore, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she mutters as you shove your shirt and leggings back into your suitcase.

“What do you mean?”

“He clearly cares about you. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.”

“That’s not true,” you sigh. You want to believe it, but there’s not much evidence to suggest that’s the case. “He’s here because he has to be. And so am I.”

You zip up the suitcase and set it on its wheels next to the bed, turning to face your friend. She smiles, and it’s not out of happiness, but it’s not a goodbye, either, and you try to cling to the hope it gives you.

“I’m really glad I got to see you again,” you say, walking to her and pulling her into a hug. She wraps her arms around you and squeezes, and for a moment, you allow yourself to take comfort in the familiarity of it. It takes you back to hoodie-clad days on the couch when you were teenagers, swathed in blankets, your biggest concern deciding which series to marathon.

“I’m glad I got to see you, too,” she murmurs, stepping away with another smile, this one more comforting. “But this isn’t the last time, I promise. You’ll keep in touch?”

“I will.” You hope it’s a vow you can keep. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do my best to stop on the way back.”

“I certainly wouldn’t be complaining,” she laughs, and even though you’re already looking forward to the prospect of the return trip, you feel a sense of undeniable loss. You know it’s not Sam’s fault that you have to go, but you wish you could stay just a little bit longer.

But, pushing that aside, you take up your suitcase by the handle and head down the stairs, Lauria trailing behind you. Sam has his duffel bag sitting on the table, and he stands when he sees you heading down. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Go ahead and get Dean in the car, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He nods and heads into the living room; you hear the sound of Dean’s body being lifted from the couch, and a few moments later, the door opens.

“Be safe, alright?” Lauria grins. “I’m counting on some updates from the road.”

“Will do,” you smile back. She pulls you in for one last hug, and you savor it, before hearing the door open and shut again. She lets you go, and you take her in one last time. There are smile lines forming at the corners of her eyes, you notice. They suit her well.

“I’ll text when I can,” you say.

“Sounds good,” she replies, following you and Sam to the door and watching as you load the bags into the trunk.

There isn’t anything left to say, so she just waves as you climb into the passenger seat of the Impala, standing on the porch as Sam turns the key in the ignition and backs out of her driveway. As you head down the road towards the main street, you turn to see her head inside.

For a minute, you don’t think he’s going to say anything; he’s silent as he guides Baby towards the entrance of the neighborhood, his eyes fixed ahead. But then, as you’re reaching the stop sign that will take you back to the main road, he says, “Hey, Y/N, I think we maybe need to talk about last night.”

You purse your lips, not looking at him, because you’ve been worried he might bring it up. “There isn’t much to talk about.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Look, Sam, it doesn’t matter. Dean is our top priority right now.” And you mean it. Getting distracted has only served to hurt you in the end. “Let’s just focus on that.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but you pull your headphones out of your bag and slide them over your ears. You imagine he’s surprised that you’re cutting him off this blatantly, but maybe that needed to happen a lot sooner than this.

You put on your road trip playlist on Spotify and close your eyes, wondering how you’re going to survive the journey to Idaho with this many unspoken words clouding the air.

*****

You spend the night in a motel without much incident; after being attacked by a demon pizza delivery boy, just about anything would be considered uneventful. You’ve been keeping the bite marks clean, and Lauria let you take a container of Vaseline for the road, but they still sting to the touch, and you’re careful not to place weight on that side of your arm when you push yourself up in bed the next morning.

Sam is nowhere to be seen, and the bathroom is silent; after feeling a moment of panic, you notice a sheet of paper sitting on your nightstand. Breathing a sigh of relief, you reach over and pick it up.

“Went to get breakfast, will be back soon.”

Setting the note back down, you climb out of bed and grab a different set of leggings and a shirt from your suitcase. Might as well utilize this time to take a shower.

You haven’t had many moments to yourself since this started; sleeping at Lauria’s was probably the closest you had, so letting the water run over you and humming the tune to a Beyonce song sets you in a better mood.

You’ve gotten dressed and are just walking out of the bathroom, squeezing the water out of your hair with a towel, when a key is slid into the lock and the door swings open. You jump, startled, but it’s of course just Sam, walking in with a plastic bag of takeout.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says apologetically, taking in your wet hair.

“Uh, no, it’s fine.” Clearing your throat, you continue drying off your hair, then nod at the bag. “What’d you get?”

“Some muffins and egg rolls,” he reports, lifting them partially out of the plastic so you can see them. It’s probably just standard takeout food, but to your starving stomach, it smells amazing. “Do you want to eat here or on the road?”

“I assumed you’d want to get going.”

“Fair enough.”

After returning the keys to the front desk and wrestling Dean into the backseat again, the two of you climb into the Impala. Sam hands you your food before setting his own in his lap, and after that, you’re off.

It’s an uneventful day of driving. He seems to respect your lack of desire for conversation, keeping his eyes on the road and only breaking the silence when rest stops are coming up. You grab lunch at a Subway in Nebraska before hitting the road again, making a decently good time.

Unfortunately, traffic isn’t agreeing with your plans to cover as much ground as possible; about an hour after stopping for food, you’re half falling asleep when you feel the Imapala start to slow. Blinking back to alertness, you sit up straight in the seat. “What’s going on?”

“Traffic jam,” he replies, his lips pressing into a line. Glancing forward, you see the pile up of cars stretching out in front of you. “I don’t know what’s causing it, if anything, but I don’t think we’re going anywhere any time soon.”

You look at him for a moment, trying to assess him. His jaw is tight, his fingers gripping the steering wheel. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

You know he’s not - you know he’s feeling the same nervousness you are, the fear creeping up in the back of his mind that the time passing is going to hurt your chances of being able to help Dean.

But traffic is traffic, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

An hour and a half and gradual build up of a mental break later, the vehicles in front of you start to gather speed again. Sam presses down on the gas, and you surge forward, finally able to get back to actual highway driving.

Predictably, it did take a chunk out of the day of travel; you’re only just starting to see signs for the Nebraska-Wyoming border when the sun begins to stray under the horizon and you’re forced to find another place to stay for the night.

“Does that look alright?” Sam asks, nodding to a sign for a motel coming up further down the road.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

You go through the usual routine, Sam maneuvering Dean out of the car while you head in to get a room. Vaguely, you recall that one room wasn’t always the plan, but it’s pointless to put the extra effort in at this point.

Setting your suitcase on the bed, you mentally note that you should probably invest in getting more clothes when you have the chance.

Glancing at Sam and his figure bowed on the other bed, you start to think that it’s been a few days since he did anything non-job related. While you and Lauria went to dinner, he stayed back, presumably worrying about Dean after being left alone with his thoughts.

For a brief moment, you wonder if you should even go there. Surely spending more time in a different setting with him would only give him more chances to say something that would hurt you, and give both of you the opportunity to make choices you would regret.

But maybe you should be thinking about him in this scenario. And maybe if you keep things surface level, it would be okay. It’d be easy enough to avoid dangerous topics, right?

“We could go out, you know,” you say, a thrill sweeping through you as you manage to get the words out.

He turns to look at you, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“I don’t know. It’s tradition, isn’t it? Work a case, go out for drinks, take the night off.”

“This isn’t exactly a case, though,” he points out, but he’s not flat out shooting it down.

“Well, yeah, but … You deserve a bit of time, you know? It’s not like he’s … going anywhere.” Your stupid sense of humor makes you want to snort at the not-quite-joke, but you tense your facial muscles for his sake, because you know he needs you to take this seriously.

“I guess. I don’t think I feel comfortable leaving Dean on his own, though.”

The words that come out of your mouth next aren’t entirely rational; you blurt it out without really thinking. “We could bring him with us.”

He stares at you for a moment, an incredulous look on his face. “You … what?”

“Yeah,” you say confidently, trying to pretend like you don’t also think it’s an absurd idea. “We could say that he’s, I don’t know, a lightweight or something. Act like it’s not our first bar of the night.”

“And if someone asks why he isn’t breathing … ?”

“Well, they certainly shouldn’t be close enough to tell, but … weak lungs.”

This has got to be one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever suggested, but you know he’s considering it, and that boosts your chaotic idea-generating ego. “I mean, I knew you were insane, but I didn’t think it’d gotten this bad.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say sarcastically. “So, should I take that as a yes?”

*****

An hour later, after taking a bit of a break to relax and get freshened up in new outfits, you climb back in the Impala and pull out of the parking lot. Despite the circumstances, excitement is buzzing under your skin. Night life is what you live for, and try as you might, you can’t deny that you’re looking forward to experiencing it with Sam again.

 _He hurt you_ , the voice in your head reminds you. _You can’t forget about what he said_.

 _No, but I can enjoy myself tonight and worry about the emotional repercussions tomorrow_ , you reply, and that shuts it up.

“I think I saw a bar on our way in,” he comments as he pulls back onto the main road. “That sound good?”

“Only one way to find out.”

A few minutes later, you pull into the parking space along the side wall of Union Bar and Grill. You can hear music coming from inside as you get out of the car, the sound of lively chatter and laughter carrying through the walls of the building. “This looks promising,” you offer, smoothing down the fabric of your skirt and closing the passenger door.

“Something like that,” Sam mutters, hauling Dean out of the backseat and throwing his brother’s arm over his shoulder. “You plan on telling him about any of this when we wake him up?”

 _When_. A smile tugs at your lips at his optimism. “We’ll see. I imagine he’ll just be surprised to see me still around.”

“If I’m being honest, I’m surprised, too.”

You shoot a glance at him but don’t broach the subject further, electing instead to head towards the front. A moment later, you hear him following, Dean’s boots dragging on the sidewalk.

The side of the bar was white, but the front of it is a bright brown, and the door is just around the corner. Taking hold of the handle, you pull it open so Sam can go in ahead of you, following his lead as the music and noises of the crowd envelop you.

It’s like entering a different world. The lighting is pleasantly dim, and there are groups of people everywhere. Snippets of conversation jump out at you as you make your way through the maze, eventually finding an empty table closer to the back wall.

Sam sets Dean down against the wall before taking his own seat in the chair next to him. You sit on the opposite side of the table facing them, grinning as you pick up the drinks menu on the counter.

He raises his eyebrows at you, watching as you begin to peruse. “That wise?”

“As long as you’re still volunteering to be my chauffeur everywhere, then yes, probably.”

“I’m not sure if that was a comment on my status as the driver or my company.”

“Can’t it be both?”

You flag down a waitress and end up ordering a standard beer. Sam, of course, passes on alcohol but orders a burger and fries and a glass of water.

The woman gives a knowing nod at Dean, who Sam has arranged to have his head laid down in his crossed arms, and you smirk at him across the table when she leaves. “See? Told you it would work. People don’t question anything they see at a bar.”

He shakes his head, the barest of smiles on his lips. “Unbelievable.”

The mischief written across his features smacks into you like a slap to the face, and reality jars through your bones. You stare at him, wondering what you’re doing sitting across from him at a bar again. What good thing have you done to deserve being back here?

By all rights, you should be here with Issy right now. Or better yet, at a bar on the other side of the country, laughing and asking Averie how many more shots she’s going to attempt. The texts and missed calls stacking up on your phone are a constant reminder of that.

His brows furrow in concern. “You alright?”

You blink, not sure how you can respond to that. He’s clearly noticed that something’s wrong. “Um. Yeah, sorry. Just remembering the last time I was in a bar.”

Sam’s eyes soften, then turn apologetic. “We don’t have to be here, you know. If it’s too hard-”

“No, it’s fine,” you interrupt him, forcing a smile. “I promise, I’ll be fine.”

He seems skeptical, but the waitress arrives with your drink and Sam’s food, and you graciously take the glass, taking a large gulp of it once she walks away. The bitter taste of it hits your tongue, and you let out a satisfied sigh afterwards, setting it down on the table. “See? I’m great.”

“We’ll see if your tolerance has gotten any better,” he chuckles, picking up his burger and taking a bite.

“For your information, it was never that bad.”

The glass is smaller than you anticipated it being; after pacing yourself for thirty minutes or so, you’re already done. “I’m gonna go grab a refill; I think I saw a sign saying they’re free.”

“Sounds good,” he says, and you go to push your chair back.

“Whoa!”

The exclamation comes a moment before you feel liquid splash across your back. You whirl on mostly steady feet, an apology on your lips, when you’re greeted with a middle aged man with an angry look on his face. “Watch where you’re going, girl!” he snaps, shaking droplets off of his arm. You’re pretty sure he’s being dramatic; you doubt that much even got on him considering you can feel the bulk of it soaking into your shirt. “You gonna pay for another drink?”

“I do apologize, but it was an accident,” you say in a calm voice. Even through the buzz of a tipsy mind, you’re aware that his raised voice is starting to attract the attention of other customers. “I’m sure you can get another drink easily.”

“That’s hardly the point when it’s your fault I spilled it in the first place.” He takes a step closer to you, and you resist the urge to gag at the reek of built up alcohol breath.

“Alright, that’s about close enough.”

You didn’t even notice Sam stand up, but suddenly, he’s at your side, all six plus feet of his height being utilized. You don’t usually see him stand like this, so seriously; normally he’s doing his best to appear unthreatening while talking to a witness or walking casually. But now, with his spine straight and arms tense at his side, you’re almost positive you’d be afraid of him if you didn’t know him. Something in his eyes screams “I dare you.”

The man seems to share the sentiment, swallowing almost imperceptibly and backing away without another word.

“We’re leaving,” Sam says, and you nod wordlessly, refill forgotten. He takes Dean under the shoulder and you depart from the bar, heading around the corner to the Impala.

“I could have handled myself, you know,” you say, pausing by the passenger door to watch him lay Dean in the backseat. “I can handle myself.”

“I know that, Y/N.” He straightens up, closing the car door and turning to face you. Your breath catches in your throat; he’s looking at you with much more intensity than you thought he would be. “But it’s you. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

All you can do is stand there, lips slightly parted, with no witty retort to make yourself seem indifferent to it. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply anyway, walking around the back of the car to get in the driver’s side. Rattled, you get in as well, closing the door, and he doesn’t say anything more, putting the keys in the ignition and twisting around to back up.

You rest your forehead against the window for the short drive, squeezing your eyes shut and reopening them a few times. You didn’t have enough to be fully drunk, and you’re familiar enough with your own stages to know that this will wear off fairly quickly, and that it won’t be pleasant when it does.

Back in the room, you trudge into the bathroom and peel off the long sleeve you were wearing, setting it on the counter and feeling around on your back. It doesn’t feel like it was sticky, thankfully, which makes it even more ridiculous that he was raising a fuss over a glass of water.

Looking to the counter, you freeze, almost unable to register the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into. Chewing your lip, you figure it’s best to just rip the bandaid off.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah, everything okay?”

“Could you … Could you grab one of my shirts from my suitcase?”

There’s silence, and you’re not sure if he’s going to look or if he’s realizing the implications of your request. A few moments later, there’s a knock on the door. “How do you want me to give it to you?”

“Uhh, I’ll stand behind the door and you can put it on the counter.”

“Alright, I’m opening it now.”

You slide behind the door and press your back against the wall as it swings open. You hear the rustle of cloth being set down before the door shuts again, leaving you breathless. “Thanks,” you manage to say, grabbing the shirt and pulling it on.

“Of course,” you hear him reply, his voice growing quieter on the last word as if he’s moving away.

You brace your hands on the sink, then splash water onto your face and dry off with the towel. It’s late, and you should get some sleep if you want to get an early start tomorrow.

“You can do this,” you whisper to yourself.

Taking a steadying breath, you open the bathroom door and walk out, flipping the light off on your way. Sam is already stretched out on his bed, flipping through channels on the TV. “You staying up?”

“Only for a bit,” he says. He doesn’t seem at all affected by the encounter you just had, so you decide to let it go and act like nothing happened. “That okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna get some sleep, but it won’t bother me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m used to it.”

You click off the lamp closest to your bed and throw back the covers to climb in. You check that your phone is plugged in on the nightstand before getting settled in, drawing the blanket up to your chin. “Good night, Sam.”

A pause, then, “Good night, Y/N.”

You roll onto your other side, knowing you won’t be able to focus on sleep if he’s anywhere in your vision. Even then, you expect it to be a battle to get your thoughts to settle down, but between the long day and the gentle sound of the TV in the background, you crash immediately.

*****

Sam clicked off the TV, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost eleven, much later than he’d planned on staying up.

His gaze shifted past the clock and to her where she lay curled up, her back to him. He softly smiled at the sight of her side rising up and down with deep breaths. She’d gone out like a light only seconds after she’d laid down, but he couldn’t blame her. It had been a tiring day.

With slow movements so as not to cause too much noise, he padded to the bathroom and splashed water on his face for a brief moment of refreshment.

Glancing at the counter, he noticed she’d left her shirt to dry there. He blinked at it, shaken by the reminder of earlier in the night.

_Could you grab one of my shirts from my suitcase?_

Such simple words, and an easy request, but it had made him freeze with unreasonable amounts of trepidation. He’d snapped out of it quickly enough that it probably hadn’t seemed suspicious, but even as he handed it off to her, he had to watch himself. Had to resist the urge to glance up into the mirror, knowing it would be an absurd breach of privacy and trust.

He hated that those thoughts still existed, because he knew they were unwarranted and unwanted. But exist they did, and he had to find a way to deal with them before they got out of hand.

Closing the bathroom door gently, he quietly got back into bed, shifting into a comfortable position under the covers. As he closed his eyes to finally get some rest, selfishly he prayed that whatever force had brought her back into his life would let him hold onto her for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Sorry for the brief gap, but I hope the longer chapter makes up for it. I also noticed that I forgot to give Chapter 8 a title so I went back and fixed that.
> 
> I'm quite busy with classes so I can't say for sure when the next update will be, but I'm working on it quite a bit in the spare time I have so hopefully it won't be too long.
> 
> What do you think of the way things are going? Any guesses on what will happen when they meet up with Lauria's contact? Also, do let me know if anything ever seems out of character for Sam or other canon characters. I do my best but it's still hard to tell sometimes, so don't be afraid to call it out!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and as always, feedback is much appreciated. Have a good morning / day / night everyone, see you in the next chapter!
> 
> ~ Wolf


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